Before Our Lullabies
by GreenField
Summary: A selection of Tudor songfics,which will be a joint effort by myself and Lady Eleanor Boleyn- they're published under the TV show and another name on her page. Reviews would make both of us happy..oh and the 1st chapter was written by her,not me!
1. Never Grow Up

**I don't own the song, Never Grow Up; this is Taylor's Swift's...Alexander's mine though :)**

Anne Boleyn, once Queen of England, Ireland and France, but now little more than a fallen prisoner, held at the King's mercy, sat in her rooms in the Tower, thinking of the one good thing that had come out of the last ten years. Her daughter Elizabeth.

Lisabelle, as Anne called her.

Only two years old and already so precocious. Anne would give anything to protect her; to shield her from the wrath that would surely fall upon her bright coppery little head once Anne herself was gone.

Closing her eyes, Anne willed herself back to the last happy day she had spent with Elizabeth.

**Your little hand's wrapped around my finger**

**And it's so quiet in the world tonight**

**Your little eyelids flutter cause you're dreaming**

**So I tuck you in and turn on your favourite nightlight**

Lady Bryan had brought Elizabeth to her at the pond and they had spent the morning playing games. Games that were filled with the kind of simple happiness that Anne had almost forgotten existed.

They had eaten lunch by the pond as well and then Elizabeth, full to bursting and worn out by the morning's activity, had drifted off to sleep.

Picking her up, Anne had carried her back to her rooms, refusing Lady Bryan's offers of assistance.

She had put Elizabeth to bed and then darkened the room, making sure to leave the door ajar so as to allow a sliver of light into the room. Despite Lady Bryan's protests, she had seated herself on the edge of Elizabeth's bed, finding a fragile, yet utter, sort of peace in watching her little daughter sleep.

**To you, everything's funny**

**You got nothing to regret**

**I'd give all I have honey**

**If you could stay like that**

Elizabeth had giggled in her sleep, Anne remembered. The sound had brought a genuine smile to her lips, as she wondered what her little girl was dreaming of to make her laugh like that.

She had leant over and kissed the child's forehead, murmuring "I love you with all my heart, Lisabelle and I bid you never forget it. May you never change, because you're gorgeous just the way you are."

**Oh darling don't you ever grow up, don't you ever grow up**

**Just stay this little**

**Oh darling don't you ever grow up, don't you ever grow up**

**It could stay this simple**

**I won't let nobody hurt you**

**Won't let no one break your heart**

**No one will desert you**

**Just try to never grow up**

**Never grow up**

At the thought of her daughter, her precious little girl, growing up without her, Anne felt tears prick her eyelids.

Who knew what awaited her darling Lisabelle in the coming years?

Anne had done her best to protect her, begging her chaplain, Matthew Parker, to look out for the child if anything should happen to her. She had even written to her estranged sister, Mary, to ask her the same thing, but how much could a simple chaplain and a kind-hearted woman of the gentry do against the might of the King of England and his councillors?

Anne held no illusions on that score.

She only hoped that, whatever happened, Elizabeth would retain some memory of the time that they had had together and never forget how much Anne loved her.

For one moment, Anne closed her eyes again and let herself imagine what life might have been like if she'd given Henry a son and got a chance to see her beloved Lisabelle grow up.

**You're in the car on the way to the movies**

**And you're mortified your mama's dropping you of**

**fAt 14, there's just so much you can't do**

**And you can't wait to move out**

**Someday and call your own shots**

"_Introducing Her Highness Princess Elizabeth Tudor, Duchess of Angouleme and Buckingham!"_

_Anne leaned forward at the herald's call, barely waiting for Henry to raise their daughter from her curtsy before enclosing her in her arms._

"_My darling Lisabelle."_

"_Mama! I wish you'd remember that I'm Elizabeth these days!" Elizabeth pulled away from her mother's arms, half-scowling._

_She glanced at her brother, Alexander, Prince of Wales, who just raised his eyebrows, as if to say "Let it be, Elizabeth. You've been her little Lisabelle for too long."_

_And Elizabeth, who always listened to Alexander, did let it be. She swallowed her Tudor pride and, for once, let Anne fuss over her._

_Anne was grateful for it. Her little girl, her precious Princess, was 14 and she was back at Court from Hatfield for a last visit before she sailed for France to marry King Francis's youngest son, the Duke of Angouleme. After the Royal Progress to Dover to see her off, Anne wouldn't see her again until their next state visit to France. Whenever that would be._

_Oblivious to her mother's turmoil, Elizabeth accepted Alexander's hand and went out on to the floor to dance._

_Watching her pretty daughter whirling round the room, first with her brother and then with Robert Dudley for her partner, gave Anne a lump in her throat._

_Sensing her emotions, Henry placed his hand over hers._

"_You can be proud of her, sweetheart. She's a jewel; a rose to rival any of the wildflowers at Francis's Court."_

"_I know, but she's still so young. Only 14."_

"_She's a Tudor, though. Our Tudor women are often old for their years. Besides, I've warned Francis that if anyone harms a hair on her head, he'll have me to answer to, so set your fears at rest, sweetheart."_

_Nodding, Anne forced a smile. If Lisabelle learned of her fears, she'd accuse her mother of not trusting her and they fought often enough in private as it was. Their last weeks together ought to be happy and golden, not blighted by strife and tension._

**But don't make her drop you off around the block**

**Remember she's getting older too**

**And don't lose the way that you dance around in your PJs getting ready for school**

_In the end though, Lisabelle wasn't quite the poised young woman she always tried to be. Princess or no Princess, she was still only 14._

_Taking her formal leave of the Court was one thing – she did that with her head held high; bidding them all farewell in a strong, clear voice, but the private farewells to her family were a little too much. By the time Anne folded her into her arms, tears were openly flooding down Lisabelle's cheeks._

"_Oh Lisabelle." Anne sighed, holding her little girl close. _

_This time, Elizabeth didn't scowl at the use of the childhood nickname. She just leaned into her mother's arms, inhaling her scent._

"_I love you, Mama."_

"_I love you, Lisabelle. My Lisabelle. I love you with all my heart and I bid you never forget it."_

_There was nothing more to be said. Anne clutched her daughter to her chest for a little longer before turning and accepting her husband's arm as they swept from the state cabin. Alexander, already having said his goodbyes to his sister, followed and there was a rustle of silver and green satin as Elizabeth sank into a final, silent curtsy behind them._

_Anne didn't need to see her daughter's face to know that Elizabeth – Lisabelle – was steeling herself to rise with a smile on her face. That was just Lisabelle all over._

**Oh darling don't you ever grow up, don't you ever grow up**

**Just stay this little**

**Oh darling don't you ever grow up, don't you ever grow up**

**It could stay this simple**

**No one's ever burned you**

**Nothing's ever left you scarred**

**Even though you want to, just try to never grow up**

_Elizabeth had always been the Tudor of the two children; the wild one, the one who could never quite control her emotions. _

_That was Alexander. He might have been the very image of Henry, but his nature was all Boleyn. He stayed coolly calm in almost any situation, able to analyse the pros and cons of it, no matter what they were. That's what made him such a worthy Prince of Wales; such an admirable King-to-be. All this at just 13 years of age._

_But Elizabeth was the one the people loved. Her wild tempestuous nature and her ability to throw herself wholeheartedly into any situation endeared to them like no Princess ever before._

_Her inborn determination, though, like Anne's, enabled her to bounce back from almost any setback. She could never be mortally wounded or fatally scarred. There was always a lesson to be learned; some sort of silver lining to be salvaged from the cloud. _

_Anne didn't know where Lisabelle had got it from, but she was grateful for it nonetheless. It was the gift that made her Lisabelle, England's Rose Princess, so fit to lead a Court. She could hold her head high, even when rumour and scandal followed in her wake, as they did so often and had done ever since she was of marriageable age._

**Take pictures in your mind of your childhood room**

**Memorize what is sounded like what your dad gets home**

**Remember the footsteps, remember the words said**

**And all your little brother's favourite songs**

**I just realized everything I had is someday gonna be gone**

A knock on the door startled Anne out of her reverie. An instant later, the bitter truth crashed over her. She hadn't given Henry a son. She was sentenced to die for false crimes of adultery and incest. She would never get to see her Elizabeth grow up.

"Come in" she called, watching with dull eyes as her maidservant, Emma, entered and bustled about, stoking up the fire to heat the water for Anne's bath.

Anne let her, in no mood for conversation. And Emma, even if protocol hadn't forbidden it, would never have dreamed of striking up a conversation of her own accord. After all, what could one say to such a fallen Queen?

**So here I am in my new apartment**

**In a big city, they just dropped me off**

**It's so much colder than I thought it would be**

**So I tuck myself in and turn my nightlight on**

After her bath, Anne found herself shivering, so she called Lady Kingston to help her prepare for bed and then sank into the welcome cushion of the goose feather mattress.

The cold didn't leave her, however, and gradually she realised that she wasn't physically cold. The cold she felt wasn't a physical chill, it was the chill of fear and dread.

Even though she knew she was hallucinating - walls didn't really move - it felt to Anne as though the walls of her chamber were closing in on her. Hastily screwing her eyes shut to block them out, she let the memories over take her again, this time of her own childhood.

**Wish I'd never grown up**

**I wish I'd never grown up**

**Oh I don't wanna grow up**

**Wish I'd never grown up**

**Could still be little**

**Oh I don't wanna grow up**

**It could still be simple**

"_Anne! Anne! Watch out, he'll get you!" Her brother shouted a warning. It was the two of them against the world. It was always the two of them against the world. It always would be._

_Evading her father's hands with a giggle, she slipped towards the copse, running past the sundial as she went, hoping to hide in its shady recesses._

"_Anne!"_

_This time, even though she heard George's warning, it was too late. As she tried to put on a burst of speed and lose her pursuer, she felt a pair of strong arms encircle her waist and she was lifted off her feet._

_Collapsing with giggles, she squirmed as her father carried her back to the sunny lawn and twirled her over his head._

That was the last time they had ever played together so happily. Her father had left for Court the next day and by the following summer, Anne had left for the Court of Margaret of Austria in the Netherlands.

By the time they saw each other again for any length of time, Anne was already a young woman and her father's love for her was becoming overshadowed by his ambition for their family.

If only it hadn't! If only he'd let her marry her cousin Thomas Wyatt and live happily at his country estate, or as a maid to Katherine of Aragon, rather than throw her at the King. If only he'd learnt his lesson with Mary. Then she wouldn't be in this horrible position of abandoning her daughter and leaving her motherless in such a Court of wolves.

Burying her face in the pillow, Anne wept. Wept for everything she had once had, everything she had lost and everything she had yet to lose.

**Oh darling don't you ever grow up, don't you ever grow up**

**Just stay this little**

**Oh darling don't you ever grow up, don't you ever grow up**

**It could stay this simple**

**Won't let nobody hurt you**

**Won't let no one break your heart**

**And even though you want to, please try to never grow up**

**Don't you ever grow up**

**Just never grow up**


	2. Exit Wounds

_A/N: It's me, GreenField ! This is Exit Wounds by The Script, whom I love Catherine of Aragon/Henry. By the way, I do really like Catherine...but I am Team Anne all the way. So pay no attention to my insults._

Queen Catherine of Aragon stood before the looking glass in her chamber, pushing back her hair to view the silver strands clinging to her scalp. Her hair, once auburn and as bright as her dowry jewels, had dulled to a plain brown with a faint reddish hue. Her face was lined with creases and lines, and her stunning green eyes had lost their fun-loving gleam. For a moment, she understood what her beloved husband saw in _that woman, _the temptress Anne Boleyn. She was so young and engaging and bright...and possibly still able to bear a child.

There was a sudden knocking on the door that startled her and made her leap away from the shining glass. She rose to stand in her most regal position, holding her head up high. One of her maids came scurrying in, a servant girl, come to change the bedsheets.

"Your Majesty" she whispered, awed, bobbing a deep curtsey, "Your Majesty, I must tell you..." she glanced towards the door, "I am a spy sent from the Spanish ambassador"

Queen Catherine frowned, stepping forward, "You have news?" she asked, the Spanish lilt still present in her voice.

"I do, your Majesty. We have heard tell that the King...the King is seeking a divorce. To marry the harlot girl. And he is one his way here...to have speech with you"

**My hands are cold my body's numb  
>I'm still in shock, what have you done?<br>My head is pounding, my vision's blurred  
>Your mouth is moving, I don't hear a word<strong>

Catherine stumbled and clutched the table to steady herself. A strange whooshing sound filled her ears – she could see the servant girl talking, but could not actually hear a thing. She screwed her eyes closed, forcing away the tears that her mother had taught her never to release, trembling and icy cold all over.

"Your Majesty!" the servant girl looked alarmed, her voice suddenly cutting through the fog, "He cannot know that you know, your Majesty, really, he must not..." she hurried out.

"His Majesty the King!" one of the ladies in waiting declared, and her Henry walked in. Dear, sweet, boyish Henry.

Catherine could not even look at him.

**And it hurts so bad that I search my skin  
>For the entry point, where love went in<br>And ricocheted and bounced around  
>And left a hole when you walked out yeah<br>**

She did not turn around, instead calling to mind the first day they had met. She had been in England for only a few days after a horrific journey, and it was her very first day in the London capital. She was young and beautiful, though hidden under the heavy clothing her duennas had insisted she wore until her marriage. Henry had then truly been the young boy that he still was at heart, with a round, cherubic face and gleaming golden curls. He was the most lovable little boy, and she knew that she would enjoy being his sister through her marriage with Arthur.

And when Arthur had died...everything had seemed so bleak that she could pinpoint the exact moment that this ray of sunshine had entered her heart. He had come to visit her, to enquire after her health, and to tell her how much he missed his brother – though, of course, he relished the idea of being a King.

And when he became a King, he had married her. And loved her, all these years.

**I'm falling through the doors of the emergency room  
>Can anybody help me with these exit wounds<br>I don't know how much more love, this heart can lose  
>And I'm dying, dying from these exit wounds<strong>

Catherine had not yet even spoken to him, although he stood awkwardly in the doorway. She kept herself turned away from him.

"Madam?"

It was that that did it. The cold, informal word he used to jolt her back to the present, the name her servants and the courtiers called her to show her rank. He did not call her Catherine, or Catalina, as he sometimes had done when they were alone. She let out a cry, reaching for the handle that would open the door to her precious private chapel, the little closet whereby she repented and begged the Lord for His help. But she could not walk away.

She was the daughter of Isabella and Ferdinand, of course she could not walk away.

**When they're leaving, the scars you're keeping  
>Exit wounds, when they're leaving, the scars you're keeping<br>Marks of battle, they still feel raw  
>A million pieces of me on the floor<br>I'm damaged goods for all to see  
>Now who would ever want to be with me?<br>I've got all the baggage, the drink, the pills  
>Yeah this is living but without the will<br>I'm blacking out I'm shutting down  
>You left a hole, when you walked out yeah<strong>

"I see that you have heard the news, Madam" said Henry coolly.

"My name is Catherine" Catherine whispered, "Do not call me Madam, like a servant"

Henry's temper flared – it had been worse since the influence of the Boleyn girl, "Do not speak so harshly to me_, Madam. _I am the King, I may call you as I wish"

Catherine's eyes widened in horror, knowing that he would never have spoken to her in such a way a few years before. He had always been a good and loving husband and prince.

"Husband, you break my heart" she said softly, forcing herself to take the agonising steps closer, "You are my husband in the eyes of the law and of God. It would kill me to lose you...in divorce"

"You have broken my heart by not giving me a son" Henry's eyes had narrowed into cruel slits, "And our marriage is not legal in the eyes of God"

He threw down his Bible at her feet, making her gasp.

"You should read Leviticus again" he hissed, "Good day, Madam"

**I'm falling through the doors of the emergency room**  
><strong>Can anybody help me with these exit wounds<strong>  
><strong>I don't know how much more love, this heart can lose<strong>  
><strong>And I'm dying, dying from these exit wounds<strong>  
><strong>Wounds ... when they're leaving, the scars you're keeping<strong>  
><strong>Exit wounds ... when they're leaving, the scars you're keeping<strong>

As he stormed out, Catherine bent down to pick up the heavy book that she had lived her life by. Her hands were still shaking. She put the Bible to one side and went into the little chapel, closing the door firmly behind her. She knelt before her figurine of the Virgin Mary, bought with her from Spain, and threaded her rosary between her fingers. Tears rolled silently down her aged cheeks.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven...hallowed be thy name..." she murmured her prayer in a desperate rush, sobbing too much to speak rationally and logically.

**Lose your clothes and show your scars**  
><strong>That's who you are<strong>  
><strong>That's who you are<strong>  
><strong>Marks of battle, they still feel raw<strong>  
><strong>A million pieces of me on the floor<strong>

Her long fingernails clawed at her skin as she spoke, wanting to tears the pain away. She could hear the sound of her heart throbbing in her ears and in her head, the blood pulsing both desolately and furiously around her body.

She would fight it, God knew it. She would fight against this divorce with all her might, for herself and her precious daughter, her little Mary. She would not lose to a harlot. Never.

**I'm falling through the doors of the emergency room**  
><strong>Can anybody help me with these exit wounds<strong>  
><strong>I don't know how much more love, this heart can lose<strong>  
><strong>And I'm dying, dying from these exit wounds<strong>  
><strong>Wounds ... when they're leaving, the scars you're keeping<strong>  
><strong>Exit wounds... when they're leaving, the scars you're keeping<strong>


	3. Somewhere Only We Know

_**A/N: This is another of Lady Eleanor Boleyn's spectacular offerings that set me off crying in minutes. I think I'm supposed to tell you that these are her characters from her excellent fanfiction 'Sister to the Queen', Eleanor and Henry Brandon (though Eleanor was a Boleyn before marriage)...the italics are Eleanor's POV and the normal is Henry's. Please review, we would both be very happy **_

**I walked across an empty land  
>I knew the pathway like the back of my hand<br>I felt the earth beneath my feet  
>Sat by the river and it made me complete<strong>

_Moonlight's strong sure strides thudded on the ground beneath me, eating it up and breaking the silence as she did so._

_I was glad of it, because it convinced me that I was still alive, that I hadn't died of pain and grief, died of a broken heart as so many heroines in old tales did._

_Yet, even though I was glad of it, I drew rein by the river. Drew rein and slid from the saddle to sit down by its crystalline depths, heedless of the harm it would do to the skirts of my gown._

_Well. Not quite heedless of it. The moment I sat down, her voice started up in my head, chiding me._

"_Get up, Eleanor. You're ruining your gown. I thought I'd taught you better than that, ma petite soeur."_

"_I don't care, Anne! I don't care! What does any of it matter now, anyway? I'm not the Queen's sister any more. I'm not Lady Eleanor Brandon nee Boleyn, Sister to the Queen!"_

"_Yes you are! You are and you always will be!"_

"_How can I be, when you're...when you're...?" I broke down into floods of tears, unable to say the terrible word._

_Suddenly, it was as though her arms slipped around me. I felt the warmth of another body close to mine and inhaled her familiar scent. I tipped my head back to where I expected her to be, but met nothing but air. Still, her voice was there and the feel of her hold. That in itself was enough to soothe me._

"_You can because you are a Boleyn and a Howard. We never give up. Never, do you hear me? You can because you were born my little sister, ma petite soeur, and nothing, not even death, will change that. I promise. And thirdly, you can because you have a husband who loves you more than anything. More than life itself."_

"_But I've pushed him away. I haven't let Henry near me since Alnwick. Since Henry Percy. I wouldn't be surprised if he's taken a mistress."_

"_He hasn't. I can assure you of that, sweetheart. Look, come."_

_Anne's voice drifted away and I followed blindly._

**Oh simple thing where have you gone**  
><strong>I'm getting old and I need something to rely on<strong>  
><strong>So tell me when you're gonna let me in<strong>  
><strong>I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin<strong>

I saw Eleanor's horse disappear down the path from the gates to the woods and sighed. She'd been like this for over a month, ever since Henry Percy died and we'd come home. She hadn't spoken to me since then; spending all her time either with the children in the nursery or riding out over the fields.

I'd let her get away with it because she was missing both a dear friend and her brother and sister, but I knew it couldn't go on much longer. The children were starting to notice.

Margaret, Elizabeth and George had all asked me separately why we never talked any more. And that was despite my best efforts to keep them from noticing anything.

Suddenly determined to talk to her, I called for my horse and rode after Eleanor.

**I came across a fallen tree**  
><strong>I felt the branches of it looking at me<strong>  
><strong>Is this the place we used to love?<strong>  
><strong>Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?<strong>

_The next time I took in my surroundings, I was in a clearing with a fallen tree lying across it. I recognised the place instantly. Henry and I had come here countless times when were newly married._

_We'd laughed and raced each other across the clearing, dared each other to jump the fallen tree and once, when we'd been unable to sleep, we'd ridden out here and danced a Volta in the moonlight._

_God, we'd been so young then. So young, innocent and in love. I wished we could go back to that._

_But we couldn't. I knew we couldn't. The world was too cruel for that._

_Exhaling, I slid to the ground and rested my head against the rough bark of the tree behind me, revelling in the silence._

_All of a sudden, a noise made me turn my head. Henry stood there, holding the reins of a horse in each hand._

"_Henry" I rose to greet him._

"_Eleanor". He nodded and turned to tie our horses up before twisting around to face me again and dropping to his knees in front of me._

**Oh simple thing where have you gone  
>I'm getting old and I need something to rely on<br>So tell me when you're gonna let me in  
>I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin<strong>

**And if you have a minute why don't we go**  
><strong>Talk about it somewhere only we know?<strong>  
><strong>This could be the end of everything<strong>  
><strong>So why don't we go<strong>  
><strong>Somewhere only we know?<strong>

A branch snapped under my feet and she turned her head, rising when she saw me.

"Henry."

"Eleanor."

The pain was evident in her voice even as we greeted each other and I had to busy myself with the horses so as not to wrench her into my arms and crush my lips to heras in an attempt to offer her solace.

All at once, I found I could bear it no longer. My knees buckled and I half-fell before her as I began to speak; speak a torrent of words that I only just realised I had been holding back for weeks.

"Eleanor, please! Can't you see what this is doing to you, to me, to all of us? I know you miss your brother and sister; that Henry Percy was your last link to the past, but this is not grieving. This is destroying yourself, destroying all of us! I'm trying to hold our family together; oh, I'm trying so hard, but I can't do it alone any more. I need something from you. I need you. I need my Duchess, my Duchess of the Summer Sun. I need you to help me. I need you to give the children hope. They're worried sick because we're not speaking. Don't do that to them. I'm not asking you to be perfect, I'm just asking you to be yourself. To be Eleanor Brandon nee Boleyn."

"And my sister? My brother? If I don't grieve for them, who will?"

Her voice was hollow, but at least she was speaking. Looking me in the eye and speaking to me.

"I'm not asking you to forget them, love. I know that's impossible. But it's been a year. It's killing me. I love you and it's killing me to see you like this. I'm asking you to live. For my sake. For the children's. Please. Live."

Heartfelt plea over, I risked getting up. I'd said all I had to say. I could do no more. It was up to Eleanor now.

**Oh simple thing where have you gone  
>I'm getting old and I need something to rely on<br>So tell me when you're gonna let me in  
>I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin<strong>

**So if you have a minute why don't we go**  
><strong>Talk about it somewhere only we know?<strong>  
><strong>This could be the end of everything<strong>  
><strong>So why don't we go<strong>  
><strong>So why don't we go<strong>

_Henry's words rang in my ears as he straightened up. "It's killing me. I love you and it's killing me to see you like this."_

_And, as I looked at him properly for the first time in a long time, I realised it was true. He had suffered both alongside me and because of me ever since my sister died._

"_Oh Henry, I'm so sorry!"_

_I jumped up and sprang at him, throwing my arms around his neck._

_He half-staggered, but caught me securely enough, holding me tight around the waist._

"_It's all right, love. I understand. I understand."_

_Nothing more needed to be said. I tightened my legs around his hips, silently thanking both God and my sister for making this reconciliation possible._

_One last whisper in the wind; "I told you. I told you, Nora. Farewell, little sister." and then Henry carried me away, bearing me as a hunter bears his prey._

**This could be the end of everything  
>So why don't we go<br>Somewhere only we know?**


	4. Blackbird

**A/N: Hey, it's me, GreenField! I was listening to this song the other day, and decided it's perfect for Anne. Set the night before her coronation. Please read and ****review! ****Song is 'Blackbird', by the Beatles, which I do not own!**

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night  
>Take these broken wings and learn to fly<br>All your life  
>You were only waiting for this moment to arise<em>

Anne stood at the window of the Tower of London. These rooms had been made especially for her. Tomorrow, a coronation had been planned, especially for her. A cloth of gold gown covered in jewels had been made, especially for her. Sometimes, she felt like it was too much. But she had been waiting for this moment all her life.

Her long black hair flowed silkily down over her back -Henry liked to brush it, to feel those dark tresses running through his fingertips. Now Anne wound it round her fingers, round the giant ruby ring that Henry had given her, what, six years ago now? The ruby that had labelled her as a virtuous woman, which she still wore although her belly was growing round with his child. Their heir, their Prince. How long had she waited for this? She'd always given herself airs and graces, but she had never imagined they'd amount to anything. How wrong she had been.

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_  
><em>Take these sunken eyes and learn to see<em>  
><em>All your life<em>  
><em>You were only waiting for this moment to be free<em>

She gazed up at the moon – a glowing full moon, which she had heard a maid whisper that that was a sure sign of Anne being a witch. Anne had snorted with unladylike laughter, and the maid had appeared horrified by such a display.

Anne opened her dark eyes wide, letting dreams of her future dance before her eyes. Tomorrow, when she would be crowned, a sure sign to all the court that she was in her rightful place. September, when the Prince she carried inside her would be born. She hoped that he would be golden haired and ruddy cheeked like his father, but with her eyes. The Boleyn eyes. Maybe next year, when she would have other children. She would have to have a second Prince, of course, just in case, but she would love a daughter. If she had a daughter, that child could be truly hers. She just hoped that the boys would come along first. She saw herself ageing, organising the marriages of her children, maybe marry her youngest little girl to the son of the King of France. She imagined maybe living past Henry – she was younger – and seeing her son, their boy, crowned at Westminster Abbey just like she would be. She imagined dying happy and content, with her baby brother by her side and her children sobbing over her grave. She liked that idea.

_Blackbird fly, blackbird fly_  
><em>Into the light of the dark black night<em>

_Blackbird fly, blackbird fly_  
><em>Into the light of the dark black night<em>

As she closed her eyes and let the cool night air wash over her, she felt as though she had just turned a corner in her life. She felt as though nothing would ever be the same again. Why, she wasn't really even Anne Boleyn anymore – since January she had been Anne Tudor, wife of King Henry VIII of England. She was practically a Queen - she would never go back to being a merchant's granddaughter, the daughter of a failing courtier, stuck at Hever all her days.

She was Anne Boleyn no longer. She was Anne Tudor, Marquess of Pembroke and Queen of England.

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_  
><em>Take these broken wings and learn to fly<em>  
><em>All your life<em>  
><em>You were only waiting for this moment to arise<em>  
><em>You were only waiting for this moment to arise<em>  
><em>You were only waiting for this moment to arise<em>


	5. Now and Then

**A/N: This one is Lady Eleanor Boleyn's, Henry/Bessie Blount. It's fantastic, so please review for her!**

**The past time so familiar  
>But that's why you couldn't stay<br>Too many ghosts, too many haunted dreams  
>Besides, you were built to find your own way...<strong>

Elizabeth Blount, better known to the Court in general as Bessie, lay in bed beside His Majesty King Henry, remembering all the times he had come to her before. Well, not all of them. There were so many times that she couldn't count them all, but one or two stood out for her.

Her first time, as a sixteen year old virgin. He had been so kind, so gentle. He had held her in his arms when she trembled with fear at the thought of what was happening; what was going to happen. He had kissed her and soothed her in a whisper and held back his own desires until she was ready. She had truly loved him then.

And at times, she'd thought he'd loved her too. After the birth of her son, _their _son, little Henry Fitzroy, he had been so tender. He had spent hours in her lying-in chambers; holding Henry; watching her mother him, dreaming about the boy's future with her. He had even, once, in the heat of his desire for her, whispered "I wish you were my Queen. I wish we were another Henry and Elizabeth, darling. I wish Harry could be my Prince, now and forever."

She hadn't known how to respond to that, so she had just murmured something along the lines of "I'm sure he'll be worthy of any honour you choose for him, Henry. How could he not be? He is your son." and watched as the King's eyes lit up. Watched his lips form the words "My Son. My son. I have a son." Watched as he leaned down to kiss her passionately, whispering "God Bless You, Elizabeth Blount" as their lips met.

**But after all these years, I thought we'd still hold on  
>But when I reach for you and search your eyes<br>I see you've already gone...**

But that was years ago. Little Harry was almost three now; he would be turning three in June and, while his father still called for her; still took her to his bed, the pleasure had gone. He no longer caressed her and talked to her as he used to. Now, when he called for her, more often than not, he was drunk; drunk and desperate for a vessel to void his seed into. That was all Bessie was to him now. A vessel; an old source of pleasure only to be used when there was no other available. She wasn't a woman. She wasn't Elizabeth. And she certainly wasn't his beautiful Bessie, the way she had once been.

Sighing, Bessie turned into the dozing King's side and trailed her hand over his cheek. She liked it best when he was like this. When he was spent with exhaustion; too exhausted even to order her out of his bed. Then she could drift off into a daydream; pretend he still loved her the way he used to.

All of a sudden, he stirred at her touch. Alarmed, Bessie drew back, preparing to leap from the bed, in case he was angry with her for having presumed to stay with him. It wouldn't be the first time.

But then he caught her hand; drew her back to him. He leaned in close, as if he was about to kiss her. Bessie held her breath. Did he in fact still desire her? After all this time?

No. "I've arranged for you to be married, Bessie. You'll marry Sir Gilbert Tailboys, Baron Tailboys before the summer progress begins."

**That's OK  
>I'll be fine<br>I've got myself, I'll heal in time  
>But when you leave just remember what we had...<strong>

He said it so finally, so coldly, that she knew there was no point in arguing with him. She just nodded, unable to speak. Eventually managing to pull herself together, she merely answered "As you wish, Your Majesty."

Sliding out of his hold, she rose from the bed and reached silently for her gown, pulling it over her head and down in place over her chemise. She laced herself up blindly, carelessly, always knowing she was making a bad job of it, but not caring. She just wanted to get out of there; out of his room, before she broke down entirely.

As if sensing her inner turmoil, Henry unwound the sheets from around himself and got up, coming across to her.

"I'm sorry, Bessie. But you know it's for the best. We could never have been together, love. Not really. You know that. Katherine and Mary make that impossible. And Sir Gilbert's a good man. He won't hurt you. I promise. I couldn't let my beautiful Bessie go to someone who'd hurt her now, could I?"

He placed his hand on her cheek and Bessie leaned into his touch, wishing more than anything that she could scream at him, rail at him, remind him of everything they'd been to one another.

She couldn't though. One just didn't do that to one's King. And that's why, instead of doing what she wanted to do, she merely turned her head in his hand so that her lips found his palm and kissed his hand. Kissed his skin one last time.

The moment over, she curtsied, lowering her head so that she could free herself from his light touch and went to the door. She glanced back one last time, hoping her eyes said everything that she herself couldn't.

**There's more to life than just you  
>I may cry but I'll make it through<br>And I know that the sun will shine again  
>Though I may think of you now and then...<strong>

But Gilbert was kind enough, it was true. From the very first time he met her, he treated her kindly; never let her think that she was worthless, just because the King had thrown her aside. He courted her, quickly, it was true, for the King wanted them married by the beginning of the summer progress, but courted her nonetheless. Courted her as a lover might court his sweetheart. His chosen sweetheart; not the woman the King was forcing him to marry.

He even assured her that, should the King be kind enough to let her little Harry live with them, even after they married, he would treat him as he might his own children, even though he wasn't his own. Bessie felt a weight lift off her shoulders when he assured her of that and it was in that moment that she knew she could trust him. Knew that she could find it in her heart to love him. Knew for certain that she would be all right again. It might take time, but she would be all right someday.

**Can't do a thing with ashes  
>But throw them to the wind...<br>Though this heart may be in pieces now  
>You know I'll build it up again and<br>I'll come back stronger than I ever did before  
>Just don't turn around when you walk out that door...<strong>

And when they married in the chapel royal at Greenwich, with the King and Queen in the front pew and Princess Mary beside them, her little Harry was the ringbearer. He was only three, but he managed surprisingly well. He melted almost all the hearts in the congregation.

His father, meanwhile, couldn't take his eyes off Bessie. But she knew she wasn't his anymore. She was Gilbert's wife now and Gilbert's wife she would stay. And when she turned, arm in arm with her new husband, lips still red from the kiss he had given her to seal their union, she knew the King knew it too.

He smiled at her and she smiled back; smiled a threefold smile – the smile of his beautiful Bessie, the one he had loved, the smile of the mother of a young child and the radiant smile of a contented new bride.

Her eyes, however, were flashing steel when she looked at him. They were telling him "You had me once, Henry. You had me once, but you tired of me. Now it's time to let me go. I might heal once from you discarding me, but I won't heal again. So let me go. Please. For Good."

And, because he knew it was the truth; because he knew he'd had her and hurt her; knew that Sir Gilbert was the right sort of man for her; that he, unlike Henry himself, wouldn't hurt Bessie, he nodded, just once and let her go. For good.

**That's OK  
>I'll be fine<br>I've got myself, I'll heal in time  
>And even though our story's at the end<br>I still may think of you now and then...**


	6. The Passionate Shepherd to his Love

**A/N: It's me, GreenField, and this one is set to a poem, rather than a song. The poem was written by Christopher Marlowe in 1599 – there's a bit of history for you! Mary Boleyn/William Stafford. Please review!**

_Come live with me and be my love,  
>And we will all the pleasures prove<br>That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,  
>Woods, or steepy mountain yields. <em>

"Mary! Mary!"

Mary turned her head very slightly in acknowledgement of William Stafford's presence, a small smile curving her lips. She had grown to rather like William, and she did think him handsome, of course. She had started to avoid the intensity of his warm, brown-eyed gaze, scared of what those disarming, almost feminine eyes could make her feel. Yet still she had chosen to walk here today, although she had known that William would soon appear.

She halted, waiting for William to catch up with her. He was running along after her, his limbs flying around as though they were being pulled by a puppet master. When he finally skidded to a breathless halt beside her, he was made breathless once again by her beauty. Her fair golden hair curled prettily under her coif, gleaming as the little swirl of it rested against her neck. Her mesmerising eyes, the same as her sister's, but somehow smoother, less harsh, looked at him with something resembling amusement. But the fact that he could see her bosom heaving as her heart hammered betrayed her obvious affection for him.

"Mary, I have something I must ask you"

Mary smiled, knowing what the question would be. She would say no, of course – surely William knew that it was impossible?

"Do go on" she urged, her voice very soft, determined not to look at him.

"Mary, do come with me. Come with me to the country and be my bride. We could live a happy life, away from here" he quite suddenly grasped her hand, "Mary, my love...it is a cruel place here. You are so good and sweet and beautiful, you should not be here"

_And we will sit upon rocks,  
>Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,<br>By shallow rivers to whose falls  
>Melodious birds sing madrigals. <em>

Mary looked at him at last, her eyes bright with the love she felt for him and the regret she felt at having to refuse.

"William, my dear, don't be a fool. My sister is Queen, she needs me here. My brother needs me to guide him, and Anne...oh, she may not say it, but I know she needs me too" Mary gently removed her hand from his. William reached out to caress a ringlet of hair instead, not at all put off.

"But I could make a life for you there, Mary. A life with all the good things about court, and none of the bad. You could learn to make your own dresses, pretty little gowns that would be made prettier with the knowledge that you made them with your own fair hands. You could learn to be a housewife – I seem to recall your sister teasing you once over your longing for a life in the country, raising a family, happily married. You only ever wanted romance. What is more romantic than a life in the country, wearing sweet home made gowns, milking cows, caring for your children and lying with a man who loves you?"

_And I will make thee beds of roses  
>And a thousand fragrant poises,<br>A cap of flowers, and a kirtle  
>Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle; <em>

_A gown made of the finest wool  
>Which from our pretty lambs we pull;<br>Fair lined slippers for the cold,  
>With buckles of the purest gold; <em>

_A belt of straw and ivy buds,  
>With coral clasps and amber studs;<br>And if these pleasures may thee move,  
>Come live with me, and be my love. <em>

Mary drew in a sharp breath – the picture was such as had once been painted in her own head, a dream that she had thrown away after her time as Henry's mistress and Anne's accession to the throne. And how could William truly believe that he loved her? She was high above him in rank, and although the few conversations they had shared had been some of the best moments of her life, did he really know her so well?

"You cannot possibly believe that you love me" Mary whispered, "Not after all I am, all I have done. I am a whore, reduced to shame, I am a widow, I am a mother kept away from her children, a sister to a fearless Queen, a womanising brother"

"And it is all those things that lead me to love you" William murmured in return, cupping her face in his hands, "I love you, Mary Boleyn, and I will not leave court without you"

Mary couldn't help beaming – the idea of an escape route was just so appealing, the idea of leaving so...wonderful. She wanted to get out, she didn't want to be here anymore. She didn't want to be the other Boleyn girl, the discarded whore.

"I love you, William Stafford" she kissed his cheek lightly, "And of course I'll leave with you"

_The shepherds's swains shall dance and sing  
>For thy delight each May morning:<br>If these delights thy mind may move,  
>Then live with me and be my love. <em>


	7. Aura Lee

**AN: This is Henry's POV of the proposal scene in Lady Eleanor Boleyn's Tudors story Sister to the Queen. Neither of us own the song, nor anything else you might recognise.**

**_As the blackbird in the spring  
>'neath the willow tree<br>sat and piped  
>I heard him sing<br>praising Aura Lee._**

"Eleanor! I thought you'd never come!" I sprang up as I saw my sweetheart coming towards me through the palace garden gate. I pulled her to me and stroked her cheek as she leaned up to kiss me.

"It was hard to slip away. My sister detained me. I'm sorry." She let her lips linger on mine; sending shivers down my spine. I forgave her at once. I forgave her everything.

"That's all right. Come, sit down with me."

I lay down in the sun and Eleanor joined me, her golden hair rippling, dappled with the sunlight shining through the branches of the weeping willow behind us. She rested her head on my chest and the day suddenly seemed a whole lot brighter. It always did when I was with her. She was my sun; my Duchess of the Summer Sun.

I heard the swallows calling as they swooped overhead and, right then, their calls seemed the most beautiful music that I had ever heard.

I ran a hand through Eleanor's golden curls, not caring whether anyone saw us or not. I loved Eleanor with more passion than I had ever loved anyone in my life.

And she seemed to return my feelings, for she giggled and wriggled away from me as she felt my fingers in her hair. That giggle was the prettiest sound I had ever heard.

**_Aura Lee! Aura Lee! Maid with golden hair  
>sunshine came along with thee and swallows in the air.<em>**

But then, all of a sudden, she sighed, and her beautiful eyes; sapphire hooks for my soul, momentarily lost their enchanting sparkle. Her shoulders sagged and I swear I felt my heart sink with them. What was wrong? Had I said something? Only a moment ago we had been laughing and planning how we would meet when the Court went off on progress for the summer, for we would both be going, I in my capacity as a page in the King's household and she as her sister, Lady Anne Boleyn's, favourite and most trusted Maid of Honour. Now she looked worn, exhausted and brow-beaten. Not like my golden maiden of happiness at all.

"What's wrong, Eleanor? My love? Have I said something?"

She shook her head. "It's not you, Henry. Truly, it's not. It's just… my Uncle's watching us all like hawks. He's watching for any scandal that might besmirch Anne's name and risk jeopardising King Henry's courtship of her. It's stifling, honestly_._ I feel like a falcon who's been trapped in a cage and deprived of any proper form of life!" she exclaimed, almost springing up in her frustration.

Running my hand over her face and then down through her hair again, I tried to win back her good humour by teasing her.

"Then what, Eleanor, are you doing here? With me?"

"I slipped away for once. I wanted to be myself, without having to watch my every move. I haven't long though. Someone will come looking for me sooner or later, and if I'm caught with you, like this, we'll be in so much disgrace…"Eleanor's voice trailed off and, instinctively, I rolled her over so that I was lying on top of her, pinning her to the ground as I kissed her, light-heartedly, letting my lips trail over hers mockingly, enticingly.

"Then what are we going to do? How on earth am I going to make you a respectable young woman again, fit to be sister-in-law to our most gracious sovereign lord? How am I to release you from those strangling jesses of yours? I'm only thirteen myself, you know." I couldn't help but have to stifle laughter as I responded. She made such a pretty picture, lying there spread-eagled beneath me.

All of a sudden, however, she sat up and used the year between us to her advantage, tipping me off her as she crooned into my ear.

"Oh but Henry, my sweet lord, it's quite easy. Just ask me one question, that's all. You know which one."

I hadn't expected her to be quite so forward, though looking back, I should have done. They didn't call her older sister the most determined woman in Christendom for nothing. At that moment, however, I wasn't thinking of Anne Boleyn at all. The only Boleyn girl on my mind was the one in front of me. The one I wanted to win for my own. I sprang up and gave Eleanor my hand to help her up. I kissed her once more, thinking _"No matter what happens now, at least I've shared passion with her. No one can ever take that from me,"_ before kneeling before her to ask the question I knew she wanted to hear.

**_Take my heart and take my ring  
>I give my all to thee<br>take me for eternity  
>dearest Aura Lee!<em>**

"Eleanor. Fair Eleanor Boleyn. Sister to the future Queen. Eleanor Boleyn, Queen of my heart, will you be my Duchess, forever and forever? Will you marry me?"

**_In her blush the rose was born  
>'twas music when she spoke<br>in her eyes  
>the light of morn<br>sparkling seemed to break._**

Glancing up, I saw that a blush – a blush that seemed to me as beautiful as any of the roses in His Majesty's finest Rose Gardens - had crept into her cheeks as I spoke to her. Cringing inwardly, I wished I had had a prettier speech ready to offer her; a poem swearing my undying devotion to her, perhaps. This had been an impulsive, almost crude, proposal. Yet, at least it had been honest. She was fair. She was the sister to the future Queen. She was the Queen of my heart. I had told her all of that more simply and more directly than I ever thought would be possible. Now the decision rested in her hands.

Of course it should have gone through our families; of course I should have asked my father to ask hers for her hand, but I couldn't do that. Not to my Eleanor. She would have thought that I didn't love her enough to afford her the honour of a proposal in person, and that wasn't true. I loved her more than anything in the world. People said thirteen was too young to fall in love, but they didn't know me. They didn't know Eleanor. She was the only one I could ever imagine marrying; the only woman I could ever countenance having at my side as my Countess; my future Duchess.

And to my relief, if the sparkle in her eyes; the sparkle that seemed as bright as the first light of dawn, was anything to go by, she returned my feelings in full force.

Her voice positively shook with happiness as she replied "Of course I'll marry you, Henry. Of course I will! I'm going to go and ask Anne to get the King to bless our union!"

"Now?" I asked in astonishment, stunned by the haste of her decision.

"Of course! Why wait? There's no time like the present!"

"I'm not fourteen yet. I can't get married yet." I reminded her.

"You will be in February. We might as well ask permission early. We could have a spring wedding. A spring wedding to mark a new beginning. The beginning of my sister's reign as Queen. She'll be Queen by this time next year, I'm sure of it!"

Eleanor kissed me, laughing joyfully and then sprinted off, her hood still in her hand and her curly hair streaming like a banner of liquid gold behind her.  
>I watched her go, struck by a sudden vision.<p>

"_Papa! Papa! Papa's home! Mama, Papa's home!" My children's voices ring through the halls as they raced to greet me. Chuckling, I pick my oldest daughter up and spin her in the air, delighting in the way her golden hair catches the light as she laughs. "How are you, Frances?"_

"_Well, Papa!" Frances shrieks as her brother Charles catches up to us, clamouring "Me too! 'Ances, me too!"_

"_All right, Charlie. Once for you and then we go and find Mama and Annie, okay?"_

_Charlie nods, so I spin him in the air and then let the children lead me into to the sitting room, where Eleanor is sitting, belly gently rounded by the early stages of pregnancy. At her feet plays our youngest, Anne Brandon, named for our Queen and sister._

"_Henry. It's good to see you." Rising, Eleanor dips me a quick half-curtsy before kissing me and asking "Wine?"_

"_Please. It's been a long ride."_

_My wife nods and goes to the sideboard to pour me a glass of French claret. "How did you leave Court?"_

"_Everything as it should be. Prince Alexander is as fine a son and heir as any man could wish for, and Princess Cecily is completely charming."_

"_Good. And my sister?" Eleanor hands me the glass as she asks after her older sister._

"_Her Majesty is well, though she misses you, darling."_

"_Well, I'll come back to Court after Christmas. Anne can hold out another two weeks, surely." Eleanor laughs, as she returns to her original position by the fire._

"_I think so, though she's as impatient as…"_

"_As a Boleyn. I know what you were going to say, Henry."_

"_You always do."_

"_I've been your wife for six years, Henry. What do you expect?" Eleanor asks and I smile wryly as I pull up the other armchair beside her._

"_Oh, Anne wanted me to tell you; she's planning the Prince and Princess's households. She'd like Charles and Frances to be part of it. And maybe Annie, when she's older. After all, it seems there's another royal child on the way."_

"_Anne's pregnant again?" My wife's eyes flash to mine as I speak._

"_It seems so. Let's pray God sends her a Duke of York."_

"_Please God." Eleanor's voice is fervent. Heartfelt. No one wants her sister to cement the Succession with a second son more than my wife does. I put my hand over hers._

"_Forget I said anything, love. Politics is for Court. Let's just enjoy Christmas with the children."_

"_Yes." Withdrawing her hand from mine, Eleanor heaves Annie on to her lap and smoothes her hair, kissing the crown of our little daughter's head._

**_Aura Lee  
>the bird may flee the willow' golden hair<br>then the wintry winds may be blowing ev'rywhere.  
>Yet if thy blue eyes I see<br>gloom will soon depart  
>for to me<br>sweet Aura Lee is sunshine to the heart_**.

A sudden shout jolted me out of my fantasy world. Blinking, I hurried back to the palace, to my place in the King's rooms. I just hoped that, one day, that fantasy would become reality. That one day, I would celebrate Christmas with Eleanor beside me as my Duchess. That one day, she would warm every winter's day for me with her eyes, her voice, her smile. That she would be my Duchess of the Summer Sun and mother to my children. That one day, she, Lady Eleanor Margaret Boleyn, or Lady Eleanor Margaret Rochford, as she was now known, since her father's elevation to Earl of Wiltshire and Ormonde and Viscount Rochford would be mine forever.


	8. I Dreamed a Dream

**A/N: Hey, it's me, GreenField. I went to see Les Miserables the other night – that is one amazing show!- and have been planning this one for a while anyway, so I decided there's no better time to write it than now. Song is I Dreamed a Dream from Les Miserables, pairing is Anne/Henry Percy. Please review!**

Anne sat alone in her old bedchamber at Hever. Her luggage was still littered around her, trunks filled with dresses, shoes, books...things to keep her amused for as long as she was stuck here. She still couldn't believe what this past week had done to her, to her dreams of a perfect future with the man she loved. Last week she had married Henry Percy, heir to the Duke of Northumberland, in secret, and they had been happy, true in their love and convinced that it would be allowed to last.

Yesterday, Cardinal Wolsey had ended it all, and exiled her to Hever for an indeterminable amount of time.

She was not allowed to ever see Harry again.

_I dreamed a dream in time gone by  
>When hope was high<br>And life worth living  
>I dreamed that love would never die<br>I dreamed that God would be forgiving_

Oh, and how she had hoped! She had loved Harry, despite what the Cardinal and even her sister had believed – she was a grasping, insolent girl who wanted Harry for his money and the title she would gain. Of course, she liked the ring of it- Anne Percy, Duchess of Northumberland – but God would forgive her for that little hint of greediness, when her deeper motives were so pure and true. She had always been told to marry for position; love came second. Well, this time she had done both! She had chosen love first, yes, but along with it had come one of the wealthiest positions in England! Why was her father so angry? Why had the King ordered the Cardinal to stop the marriage?

_Then I was young and unafraid  
>And dreams were made and used and wasted<br>There was no ransom to be paid  
>No song unsung, no wine untasted<em>

They had met for the first time at the masque of the Chateau Vert. Harry had 'rescued' her from her tinfoil tower, and they had danced the night away. She had not known who he was when she gazed into his eyes, all she could see of his face covered by the golden mask. His eyes were warm, hazel flecked with green, sometimes almost golden...and his golden hair, his chiselled jaw. Her own eyes, black as night, her own hair, her own beauty, seemed so inferior once she had set eyes upon this angel. They spent all that night together, and from that moment on she dreamed of marrying him, and he her. They whispered that they loved each other one night a month later, hidden away in the palace maze, and he had kissed her for the first time. He asked her to marry him there and then, and she said yes, of course. 

_But the tigers come at night_  
><em>With their voices soft as thunder<em>  
><em>As they tear your hope apart<em>  
><em>As they turn your dream to shame<em>

Then the King had heard of the match. Anne still wasn't entirely sure how he had found out, only that once he had, he didn't like it. And then it was left to Wolsey, that smug, pompous oaf, to tell her that she was not worthy, that she was just a courtier's daughter, a whore's sister, a nobody with gripping black eyes that had tricked Harry into marriage. A marriage that now did not exist.

Anne grasped at her ring finger, where the gold band had sat for so short an amount of time. If she closed her eyes and thought hard, she could feel the cold metal against her skin, that symbol of their love.

_He slept a summer by my side_  
><em>He filled my days with endless wonder<em>  
><em>He took my childhood in his stride<em>  
><em>But he was gone when autumn came<em>

Their first and only summer together would be a time she would remember forever. She had felt as though she wasn't worthy of him or his love, had told him so, but he insisted that he loved her and her humble origins would not change that. She had believed him she still did – it was others who had considered her unworthy. But Harry had loved her, had not left her side all that summer. He had been her only dancing partner, her most successful suitor, a giver of little gifts that she still had with her, hidden in the folds of her gowns. He had befriended her beloved brother in order to please her, paid court to her sister, regally acknowledged her parents. He had done so much for her.

But when the season fled, so did he; not brave enough to stand up to the King, the Cardinal and his father all at once, he had given her up as if she had never mattered to him at all, and it was that that hurt the most, like a cold knife stabbed into her heart.

_And still I dream he'll come to me_  
><em>That we will live the years together<em>  
><em>But there are dreams that cannot be<em>  
><em>And there are storms we cannot weather<em>

Despite his betrayal, she still longed for him to come to her. Looking out of her bedroom window at the rolling fields of her childhood home, she pictured him riding up to her door, whisking her away on a dappled grey stallion and taking her home to his castle, where she would be both his loving wife and his duchess, the mother of his children, the angel in his bed...

But he would not come. Not after what they had been through with those all powerful men who had denied them their happiness.

And she, Anne Boleyn, once Anne Percy, would never truly love again.

_I had a dream my life would be_  
><em>So different from this hell I'm living<em>  
><em>So different now from what it seemed<em>  
><em>Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.<em>


	9. Love Story

**Here's Lady Eleanor Boleyn's AN:** I decided to do an AU storyline for this particular song, partly because it's so perfect for Elizabeth and Robert Dudley apart from the happy ending at the end, and partly because I thought it might be time to do one. As I've already said, pairing is Elizabeth/Robert Dudley. Story starts in 1561 and then flashes back to when they're little.

**We were both young when I first saw you  
>I close my eyes<br>And the flashback starts  
>I'm standing there<br>On a balcony in summer air**

"Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth Dudley-Tudor! His Highness , Prince Consort Robert Dudley-Tudor!" At the herald's cries, Elizabeth laid her hand on her new husband's sleeve, exchanged a smile with him and then let him lead her down the length of the hall to the dais.

Seating herself and then letting him sit beside her, she took his hand as they began to watch the masque that her cousin, Lady Catherine Knollys, had organised in honour of their marriage.

As the participants finished the final dance and sank into bows and curtsies to their Queen and new Prince Consort, Robert leaned over to her. "Remember when we first met, Elizabeth? Remember when we first danced together?"

"Of course I do. It was the King Arthur Masque on Midsummer's Day. Midsummer's Day in the year of our Lord 1543. The year my father married Katherine Parr. I played Guinevere, you played Lancelot. " Elizabeth whispered back, clapping for the dancers in front of her before leaning back in her throne and letting the memories overtake her.

**See the lights  
>See the party, the ball gowns<br>I see you make your way through the crowd  
>And say hello, little did I know<strong>

"_My Lady Elizabeth? Might I have the honour of a dance?" Turning, Elizabeth saw the dark-haired boy who had played Lancelot alongside her brother's King Arthur and her own Guinevere coming towards her across the dance floor. He bowed as he reached her and she dipped him the merest hint of a curtsy – lower born than her he might be, but he was one of her brother's companions and as such, had to be treated with respect._

"_Gladly, except I don't dance with gentlemen that I do not know, Sir…"Elizabeth trailed off, realising with horror that she had forgotten his name. Realising her predicament, he smiled and replied, "Robert. Master Robert Dudley. There, now we are introduced. Come, dance with me, please, My Lady Elizabeth!"_

_Without waiting for another protest or even a proper answer, he presumptuously seized her hand and dragged her to the dance floor. Elizabeth went with him, laughing suddenly at his enthusiasm._

__**That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles  
>And my daddy said stay away from Juliet<br>And I was crying on the staircase  
>Begging you please don't go, and I said<strong>

**Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone  
>I'll be waiting all there's left to do is run<br>You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess  
>It's a love story baby just say yes<strong>

"I'm still surprised you liked me. After how I treated you…"

"You were overexcited, Robin. We both were." Elizabeth smiled, briefly stroking her new husband's cheek.

"Yes, but I'm not sure your father understood that."

"No, he didn't. Do you know he told my stepmother Queen Katherine to warn me away from you?"

"Really?"

"Yes. But he underestimated me, Robin. I'm a Tudor. A Tudor with Boleyn blood. I was hardly going to stay away from you. After all, they didn't call my mother the most determined woman in Christendom for nothing. Besides, Fate wanted us together. I'm sure of it. Don't you remember when you found me crying in the garden after my Father died?"

"Of course I remember, Bess," Robert chided lightly, slipping a marchpane fruit between her lips as he answered her. Elizabeth's mouth opened to receive it and, withdrawing his hand after tickling her lips tantalisingly, he tucked a strand of copper hair behind her ear.

"It was the first time I kissed you, remember? How do you expect me to forget that?"

**So I sneak out to the garden to see you  
>We keep quiet 'cause we're dead if they knew<br>So close your eyes  
>Escape this town for a little while<strong>

_At the sound of the footfall behind her, Elizabeth jumped. She hoped to God it was her governess Kat, or perhaps her stepmother Katherine Parr. They'd understand. They'd let her cry as though she was just a young girl who had lost her father; as though she wasn't the thirteen year old Lady Elizabeth, the King's Daughter. _

_Unfortunately, it wasn't. "My Lady?"_

_The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but Elizabeth wasn't in the mood to try and work out who it was. "Go away!" she snarled, swiping at her eyes angrily. She was a King's daughter for God's sake! She shouldn't be crying in the palace gardens at all, least of all in front of a young man!_

"_But you're upset. What kind of Knight would I be if I left a damsel in distress to her own devices?" The voice was closer now, right behind her._

"_A wise one," Elizabeth snapped "Do you not realise who I am?" _

_However, she didn't protest when the young man behind her knelt down and tentatively touched his fingers to her shoulder._

"_You're the Lady Elizabeth. The King's Sister."_

_His voice was kind and Elizabeth instinctively turned to face him. She recognised him instantly. "Master Robert."_

"_My Lady Elizabeth." He repeated, taking his hand off her shoulder and kissing her hand instead._

"_How are you?"_

"_I'm well, My Lady, though the same cannot be said for your brother. Edward is, is much distressed by your father's demise and his new sense of responsibility does not help."_

"_Poor Edward. I wish I could be with him."_

"_But why can't you?"_

"_Oh, Robert, are you really that blind? His uncles hate me! They saw my mother as a whore and they see me as a bastard. They don't even think I was my father's daughter! They're never going to let me see him again!"_

_Despite herself, Elizabeth felt her eyes fill with fresh tears. Robert laid his hand on her arm._

"_I'm not so sure about that. You're Edward's Sweet Sister Temperance. He wouldn't let them keep you two apart."_

"_You think he wouldn't?" Hating herself for how insecure she sounded, Elizabeth still pressed him for more confirmation._

"_I know he wouldn't, My Lady," Robert assured her. "And if it's any consolation, I don't think you're a bastard. You're too much of a Tudor for that. As far as I'm concerned, you're the one and only Lady Elizabeth Tudor. You're _my _Lady Elizabeth Tudor."_

_Impulsively, he leaned forward so that his lips landed on hers. Too stunned to move, Elizabeth let him kiss her, trying to ignore the jolt in her chest as he did so._

**'Cause you were Romeo, I was a scarlet letter  
>And my daddy said stay away from Juliet<br>But you were everything to me  
>I was begging you please don't go and I said<strong>

**Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone  
>I'll be waiting all there's left to do is run<br>You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess  
>It's a love story baby just say yes<strong>

**Oh oh**

"Edward Seymour wasn't pleased when he found out, was he?"

"No, nor was your Governess, if I remember correctly. I think she accused me of taking advantage of your grief to have my way with you. She has quite a fierce tongue when she wants to, doesn't she?"

"Kat? Yes. But she only wants the best for me. She brought me up, remember? And anyway, you were betrothed at the time."

"How could I forget? You were so distressed at the wedding."

"I was not! I smiled and danced and wished you well just as sincerely as my own brother did!" Elizabeth protested.

"Maybe, but you were pulling the Princess act on me. You only do that when you're hiding your emotions," Robert laughed, gulping a mouthful of wine as he spoke.

Elizabeth swatted him impatiently, but she knew he was right. Her heart had been tearing in two that day. If Robin hadn't found her and talked her out of her bad mood, she might well have pined away for him forever.

**Romeo save me, they try to tell me how to feel  
>This love is difficult, but it's real<br>Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess  
>It's a love story baby just say yes<strong>

_"Do you, Sir Robert Dudley, take this woman, Lady Amy Dudley, to be your lawful wedded wife; to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer and for better or for worse, until death do you part? Do you swear to love her and cherish her and to forsake all other women for her, now and forever, as long as you both shall live?"_

"_I do." _

_Robert's voice was firm as he swore everlasting love to his new bride. He didn't even spare Elizabeth a moment; a final farewell glance._

_Elizabeth felt a pain so great it might have been physical stab her as he spoke and, pushing abruptly past her Lady Governess, she left the chapel without looking back, not caring what a scandal it would cause._

_Standing outside wasn't enough; she could still hear the ceremony, so she picked up her skirts and ran to the other end of the churchyard, leaning against the oak tree that stood there as she desperately tried to pull herself together._

_A commotion behind her told her that the new spouses must be leaving the Church, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Let them go on to celebrate without her._

_She did allow herself one last glance over her shoulder, however. Amy, radiantly lovely in a pale blue gown shot through with silver, was hanging on to Robert's arm, alternating between gazing at him adoringly and beaming at her guests. She looked milky, demure, delicate. Nothing like Elizabeth._

_Robert saw Elizabeth looking and gently disengaged himself from Amy. Kissing her and excusing himself from the wedding party, he came over to her._

"_Elizabeth?"_

"_Do you love her? Amy? Do you love her?" _

_Elizabeth couldn't help herself. She had to know._

"_Elizabeth!" Robert put his hand out, trying to calm her. She pulled away violently._

"_NO! Do you love her? Robin, tell me, do you love her?"_

"_Not the way I love you." The words were so soft Elizabeth barely heard them._

"_Then why marry her? You could have asked Edward to let you marry me! You know he'd have said yes! You know he would have done!"_

"_Edward is just a child! He's a puppet in the hands of the Council and you know that they would never have agreed to us marrying!"_

"_That's no way to speak of my brother the King!" Elizabeth turned and would have run from him if he hadn't thrown his arms around her waist and held her as she struggled against him._

"_Go and dance with your wife, Robert! That's what everyone expects of you!"_

_He manhandled her behind the tree and then, hidden from view, let her go as he fell to one knee before her._

"_My Lady Elizabeth, I love you. I love you with all my heart and that won't change just because I'm marrying the Robsart girl. Because I'm marrying Amy. I love you and I swear to you here and now that, if there ever comes a time when I am free to marry you and you are free to marry me, I will marry you in an instant. And until that day, I will live for you, Elizabeth. You and you alone."_

"_Do you promise?"_

"_I promise, _Princess,"_ Robert spoke wholeheartedly, using the title that was no longer hers openly for the first time._

"_Then kiss me, Robin, please. Kiss me goodbye."_

"_Gladly."_

_Rising, he pressed his lips to hers in one last token of passion and then, stroking her fiery hair one last time, left her staring after him as he walked back to his wife._

Elizabeth shook her head to clear it of the unpleasant memory as she turned to face her new husband again, having looked away to speak briefly to her cousin and thank her for the masque. She had to stop thinking like this. He was hers. He'd made good on that promise to love her even through his marriage to Lady Amy. He was her sweet Robin, forever and ever.

"Anyway, does it matter? Does any of it matter? We're married now, Robin. I'm Queen of England and we're married! What's mine is yours. We're married!" Elizabeth exclaimed, stretching out her arms to express just how much power they both now wielded.

"Of course it doesn't, Bess. You're right. Come on, let's dance. Everyone's waiting for us to do it."

"Then let them wait!" Elizabeth laughed, but as Robert stood and held out his hand, half imperiously; half teasingly, she sprang up to take it, thinking how lucky she was that his wife Amy Robsart had died of a fever a year earlier, so that, not three years into her reign as Queen, she was able to marry her sweet Robin and make him her Prince Consort. That she had been able to say yes to him when he proposed there on the banks of the Thames on Midsummer's Day; exactly 17 years after they first met.

**I got tired of waiting  
>Wondering if you were ever coming around<br>My faith in you is fading  
>When I met you on the outskirts of town, and I said<strong>

**Romeo save me I've been feeling so alone  
>I keep waiting for you but you never come<br>Is this in my head? I don't know what to think  
>You knelt to the ground, pulled out a ring<strong>

**And said, marry me Juliet  
>You'll never have to be alone<br>I love you and that's all I really know  
>I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress<br>It's a love story baby just say yes**

"_Oh, what a heavenly day this is turning out to be!" Elizabeth, flushed with the exertions of the ride she had been having, most particularly the race she had just had with her cousins Lady Catherine Knollys and Sir Henry Carey, tipped her face up to the sun and smiled as its warm rays caressed her skin._

"_Yes, Madam," Catherine agreed. Elizabeth shook her head. "Cousin, Cate. I thought I told you to call me Cousin?"_

"_You did." Catherine admitted._

"_Then do it." Elizabeth ordered, before a flurry of hoof beats shattered the tranquillity of the moment._

_Irritation sparked in the young Queen's eyes before she saw who the rider was. "Robin!"_

_Picking up her skirts, she ran over to the rider as he dismounted and knelt to kiss her hand._

"_Your Majesty. It pleases me greatly to see you happy and in good health."_

"_And it pleases me to see you returned to Court. How is Lady Dudley?"_

_Pain flashed in Robert's eyes for a moment before he controlled himself. "My wife sadly died of a fever two weeks ago. She nursed me through it devotedly, but her own body wasn't strong enough to fight it. I have just come back from settling her affairs."_

"_My Condolences, Sir Robert."_

"_Thank you, My Lady Queen. Might I have the honour of walking with you? I have a question I want to ask you."_

"_Of course." Elizabeth took Robert's proffered arm and strolled along the banks of the Thames with him, starting when he suddenly turned to her and caught at her._

"_Don't you understand, Elizabeth? Amy's dead. I'm free to marry you! You're free to marry me. Let's do it. Say you will. God, please say you will!"_

"_Sir Robert!" Elizabeth drew back. "Your wife is not yet cold in her grave and yet you have the nerve to propose to me?"_

"_Not to propose, my Lady, to make good on a promise I made you years ago! I promised you I would marry you the moment that I was free, and now I am. Was I wrong to believe that you would be pleased?"_

"_Amy is two weeks dead, having died to nurse you back to health, Robin. The lack of respect that you show her memory worries me. I wonder if, if I was to agree to marry you and then died, you would propose to your next wife with the same speed." Elizabeth spun on her heel and started to stalk back to Catherine and Henry._

"_Your Majesty, please!" Robert shouted after her. Despite herself, Elizabeth hesitated at the sound of his voice. He rose and raced after her._

"_There would be no other wife, Madam. I can swear that to you now, before witnesses, before all that is holy, if you wish. I love you, Elizabeth Tudor. I've loved you since we first danced together as children, when you were nine and I was ten. Surely you know that. Please, just believe me. Give me a chance. Say yes."_

"_Yes," Elizabeth breathed, scarcely able to think, "Mourn your wife, mourn her properly, Robin and then, if you still feel the same way, ask me again and I will marry you. I promise you that."_

"_Thank you. Thank you, Bess!" Taking her hand, Robert kissed it before tipping her face to kiss and kissing her again, once on the forehead, once on the lips. As he drew back from her, he pressed a silver brooch into her hand._

"_A token of my love."_

_Silently, she pinned it to her chest as they turned to go back to the horses. She pinned it right above her heart._

**Oh, oh, oh, oh  
>'Cause we were both young when I first saw you<strong>


	10. On My Own:Anne Boleyn

**AN: This is Lady Eleanor Boleyn's and has already been posted as a separate story, but I hope you enjoy it anyway…please review!**

**And now I'm all alone again**

**Nowhere to turn, no-one to go to**

How had it come to this? How had she, Anne Boleyn, Queen of England, France and Ireland, mistress of the King's heart, become nothing more than a fallen prisoner?

She tossed restlessly on her bed, watching the slivers of moonlight flit across the room, lighting her maidservants' faces. It was late; she needed to rest, but her mind, always so engagingly sharp, whirled and spun, refusing to let her rest. She kept replaying the last decade in her mind, trying to work out where it had all gone so wrong.

**Without a home, without a friend**

**Without a face to say hello to**

She didn't know. But it had. Somehow, it had gone wrong, and now she was to die, alone and friendless, the King's mind poisoned against her, pronounced guilty and shamed by her own uncle.

Anne glanced down at her servants. They were sleeping like logs – they'd never notice if she went for a wander tonight, as she had done nearly every other night.

**But now the night is near**

**And I can make believe he's here.**

Yes. A wander sounded like a good idea. She would go alone, and she would think of Henry. Not Henry the monster, the Henry who had ordered her execution, but rather Henry the lover who had adored her for so long.

**Sometimes I walk alone at night**

**When everybody else is sleeping**

Flinging a crimson cape trimmed with swansdown over her nightshift, Anne slipped from the room.

Everyone else had already retired for the night. The Tower was silent around her.

Or no. It wasn't. It was buzzing. It was alive. Alive with her memories.

**I think of him, and I'm happy with**

**The company I'm keeping**

**The city goes to bed and I can live inside my head**

The sights, the sounds, even the smells of the first years she had spent back at the English Court; they pressed in upon her, demanding her attention. First and foremost though, was the mighty King, the King who had such presence, the King whose heart and mind she had captured so easily.

Great Harry – Henry the Eighth of England, France and Ireland.

**On my own**

**Pretending he's beside me**

Anne knew she was alone in the silent chambers, yet somehow, as she turned the corner, he was there. Waiting for her. She was sure of it – she could see him.

She turned away, cold-shouldering him, as she had done so often before, when she had first been weaving her web around him. She moved off down the nearest passage, and he followed her, just as she had known he would. She quickened her pace, but he continued to stalk her, marking her pace, until, finally unnerved, she stumbled.

Then, he moved like lightening. In an instant, he was at her side, sweeping her into his arms, raining kisses down upon her.

**All alone, I walk with him till morning**

**Without him, I feel his arms around me**

Anne knew she had to be dreaming. Henry hadn't treated her like this for months, not since he had become enraptured with that Seymour milksop, after she had miscarried her son, but she was so happy to be held as he was holding her, that she gave up struggling to be put down, and briefly closed her eyes in sheer ecstasy.

**And when I lose my way I close my**

**Eyes and he has found me**

Anne moved as though she were in a dream. Her eyes were open again, but she was seeing nothing. Hence it was a surprise when she blinked, and suddenly found herself in the Tower Gardens. It was even more of a surprise when she realised that Henry, be it a phantom of him, and not the man himself, was still with her. He stood a couple of paces away, with his back to her. She tiptoed to his side, and slipped her arm through his. They were together again, as they were meant to be.

**In the rain the pavement shines like silver**

**All the lights are misty in the river**

**In the darkness the trees are full of starlight**

**And all I see is him and me forever and forever**

It was a magical night. The pond, usually so flat and dull, seemed to gleam in the moonlight. Gleam like one of those shining silver florins that Anne had so often given to the poor, not to mention spent like water, as though they would never cease to be at her disposal. How wrong she had been!

In the dark depths of the pond, the flames that burned so brightly in the Tower windows and nearby torches seemed to gain an ethereal quality, to lose their sharp edges and merely fade away into nothing.

Best of all though, the pond held Anne's own reflection, and if she peered through half-closed eyelids, she definitely saw Henry at her side.

Leaning against him, she gazed hungrily at the two of them, drinking in every detail – the swan floating past, its white coat standing out against the blackness of the night, the way the starlight played in the branches of the trees above, and appeared to make her raven-black tresses glitter like rows and rows of precious gems; the way Henry's arm curved tenderly about her slender waist. It was simply idyllic.

**And I know it's only in my mind**

**That I'm talking to myself and not to him**

Or was it? For now as she talked idly to Henry, believing she had him again, she lost him. She stood alone once more.

"_No!" _she cried vehemently, fighting to return to her dream world, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, blocking out the night around her.

She did return, in a way. She did. It had merely all gone horribly wrong.

**And although I know that he is blind**

**Still, I say, there's a way for us**

The world had changed around her. She was in the Great Hall at Greenwich Palace now, and she was with Henry, but he paid no heed to her.

Instead, he stared past her at the pretty blonde wench who stood amongst her ladies. Lady Jane Seymour.

With a jolt of furious envy, Anne called for music, and began to dance - dance as she had never danced before. She was determined to show Henry that she, not Jane, was best suited to him, that she was already the perfect wife and Queen for him, and that she would be mother to the heir he craved, if only he gave her a chance.

**I love him**

**But when the night is over**

**He is gone – the river's just a river**

To no avail. Henry left the room, beckoning Jane Seymour to his side as he did so. Anne ran out to watch them leave, and saw them getting aboard a boat, and being rowed out on to the waters of the Thames. She stared after them, then down at the river.

How lifeless it seemed! How dull and black! It had certainly lost its magic that night.

**Without him the world around me changes**

**The trees are bare and everywhere the**

**Streets are full of strangers**

So had the rest of the world.

Without Henry's invigorating presence at her side, everything was different. The trees, which had once sparkled so enticingly in the moonlight, now stood out blackly and silently against the dark sky. Nothing sang out, nothing drew Anne to them as they always had before.

The people around her, who sank into bows and curtsies as she passed, no longer seemed distinguishable, no longer seemed to be separate entities, but rather all part of the same faceless mob.

Panicking now, Anne screamed out for her sister, her father, her brother, _anyone_, in fact, who could help her. She ran blindly, her only desire to get away from that now menacing crowd.

**I love him**

**But every day I 'm learning**

**All my life I've only been pretending**

Suddenly, Anne came back down to Earth with a bump. As she sat up, and rubbed her head, it suddenly became clear. Of course! She understood now. Henry had never loved her. Not the way she had forced herself to be able to love him. She had been an exciting conquest, nothing more.

His determination to have her for his own had caused him to marry her, but, as far as she as a person was concerned, there wasn't a mite of love within him – there never had been.

**Without me his world will go on turning**

**A world that's full of happiness**

**That I have never known**

Nor did Henry truly love Mistress Seymour. She too was nothing more than an attractive, alluring prospect for some fun; a challenge to be overcome, for Henry had never truly loved any woman, not even Queen Katherine, who had been his wife for over twenty years.

As long as he had power, and as long as the Court was full of pretty young things that he could run after, and eventually possess, he would be happy. For all that he was a king, he had no real dignity.

**I love him**

**I love him**

**I love him**

**But only on my own**

Well, Anne was different. Picking herself up from where she had fallen after running into an oak tree, she dusted off her robe.

She had been anointed Queen of England, France and Ireland, and though she had been sentenced to die on the morrow, she would die with dignity. Henry had never loved her with all his heart and soul, but she had loved him, and for the sake of that love, she would not rail against fate.

No. She would show the crowds, and the rest of the world, some of the dignity that Henry lacked.

She would die a true Queen.


	11. On My Own: Mary Boleyn

**A/N: Another one of Lady Eleanor Boleyn's lovely On My Own songfics, this time for Mary Boleyn. Please review.**

_**And now I'm all alone again **_

_**Nowhere to turn, no one to go to**_

_Mary Boleyn sat in her little room in Greenwich Palace and stared sullenly into the flames of the fire that was burning merrily in the grate. She didn't feel merry. It was late, and, only a very short time ago, her brother George would have been running to her chambers around this time, coming to take her to the King. _

_But not tonight. Tonight she was alone._

_**Without a home, without a friend**_

_**Without a face to say hello to**_

_There was a Boleyn girl with the King, it was true, but it wasn't Mary. It was her sister. It was the other Boleyn girl. George had come to their shared chambers, and taken Anne away with him._

_Anne, the exotic Boleyn beauty, with her flashing dark eyes and her abundant black curls, was the King's favourite now, and Mary, pretty Mary Boleyn, who had been the centre of the Court for such a long time, was sidelined; forced to sit alone in her rooms because she had no one left who would sit with her._

_**But now the night is near**_

_**And I can make believe he's here**_

_Eventually the heat of the fire, and the lateness of the hour combined to send her into a dream-like state. She heard a slight knock on the door, and automatically leapt up to answer it. _

_There was no such knock on the door, of course. Her logical mind told her so, but when she threw the door open, and saw Henry Tudor standing there, holding out his hand for her to take, she didn't hesitate. She pulled a cloak over her nightshift, and followed him outside, though he ducked away out of sight before she had finished doing so. They were going to play one of their late-night games of hide and seek, by the looks of it. He wanted her again. That's all she knew, and that's all she cared._

_**Sometimes I walk alone at night**_

_**When everybody else is sleeping**_

_Mary moved through the palace, always knowing she was mad, that she wasn't really following the King, that he was closeted in his bedchamber with Anne, the way he used to be with her, but not caring. The rooms and corridors were silent around her, and that was all she needed. She would think of him, think of the way he used to be, and she would be content._

_**I think of him and I'm happy with**_

_**The company I'm keeping**_

_**The city goes to bed, and I can live inside my head**_

_How had she first seen him? First caught his eye? Hunting? Or was it during that masque at Cardinal Wolsey's house, York Place? Yes, that was it. She had been gowned in green silk velvet, and Henry had been dressed in a silver doublet meant to look like armour, with a mask over his face. He had singled her out to dance with him, and she had gone, half delirious with delight._

_Even once they had unmasked, he had danced with her again, though etiquette didn't demand it – he could have danced with someone else if he'd wanted to. But no, she had been his chosen partner that night, and he had placed her at his left side when they went into dine. It was true he had scarcely spoken to her that particular night, preferring instead to converse with the Queen, but still, the honour had been great, and she had revelled in it, and especially in the barely concealed envy on her sister's face._

_Mary sped up, excited by the memory, and was rewarded when, upon turning the next corner, she saw the King again, this time clothed as he had been on that first night, at the masque. _

_**On my own**_

_**Pretending he's beside me**_

_She knew he wasn't there, not really. She knew she was alone in the silent rooms of the palace, but she didn't care. She would pretend he was with her, courting her as he always used to._

_**All alone I walk with him till morning **_

_Mary wandered aimlessly down the corridors of the Palace, her eyes half shut, not because she wasn't interested in where she was going, but because it was the only way she could see Henry with her, his arm firm under her slim hand as they walked. Henry's head was bent, as she murmured to him, pouring her girlish confidences into the royal ear as she had been instructed – and as he had asked her to do. She smiled, perfectly happy to be with him, without anyone interfering._

_**Without him I feel his arms around me**_

_**And when I lose my way I close my**_

_**Eyes and he has found me**_

_However, walking around with one's eyes half-shut in the pillared passages of Greenwich Palace was not a terribly bright idea. Suddenly Mary found herself bumping, rather hard, against a stone column that stood in an awkward corner. Jolted from her reverie, she opened her eyes – and lost the thread of what she had been pretending. Sighing bitterly, she turned to go back to her room before anyone spotted her, and started asking awkward questions, but then, all of a sudden, she felt a pair of warm arms slip around her waist, and heard the King's voice whispering in her ear. The voice, so familiar to her – as familiar and intimate as her own, was low and tender, and she wanted to do what it told her at once._

"_No, Mary. Sweet Mary. Don't go. Come with me. Come."_

_She followed, unaware of what she was doing._

_**In the rain the pavement shines like silver**_

_**All the lights are misty in the river**_

_**In the darkness the trees are full of starlight **_

_**And all I see is him and me forever and forever**_

_Because she had moved through the palace without concentrating, without taking in her surroundings, she was startled when the strange tugging feeling stopped, and she was standing alone. She glanced around, and realised that she was down by the private river gates of the King. The moon sparkled in the water of the Thames, lending her reflection a ghostly splendour, and the starlight gleamed too – gleamed like the pearly light she had seen from the windows only too often on wintry, misty mornings when, having been with the King all night, she slipped from his bed and loving embraces in order to be back in her chambers by the time the Queen's Chief Lady of the Bedchamber, Maria Salinas, came to wake them for Mass. It danced in the treetops, gladdening her heavy heart as she gazed up at it, but the other thing that did that, the thing she desired above all things, was also with her. King Henry, or at the very least, a phantom of him, was with her, and he was loving her as he used to. He took her in his arms, and led her up to the bridge across the Thames, and danced with her, whirling her swiftly in his arms there beneath the moon's gentle, motherly brightness. The moment was perfect; Mary's heart soared as she spun, her eyes closed in bliss._

_**And I know it's only in my mind**_

_**That I'm talking to myself and not to him**_

_And then, all of a sudden, voices broke into her reverie. Voices, stifled laughter, a merry joke told in a whisper. The sounds of a lover and his lass slipping out to enjoy the darkness of the night. _

_Mary ran to the side of the bridge, and looked down over the parapet, instantly wishing she hadn't. The King and her sister, Anna-Maria Boleyn, (or rather, Anne Boleyn, as she was known at Court) were standing together by the riverbank, just underneath her position on the bridge – and they were kissing. Kissing eagerly, deeply, passionately, just the way she and the King used to kiss when they were sweethearts, when she was the only woman he desired, when, she not Anne, was his favourite companion, and the centre of the Court. _

_**And although I know that he is blind **_

_**Still I say, there's a way for us**_

_Angry tears filled Mary's eyes as she watched them, but she couldn't stop watching. Some inner force compelled her to stare at the scene unfolding before her eyes; to watch, and to realise the extent of her own heartbreak._

_Suddenly, as if he felt her gaze upon him, the King pulled away from Anne, and glanced upward towards her. Their eyes met._

_His were cold, clear and hard – no smouldering desire in them any longer - but Mary knew hers were full of thwarted love and disappointment. She fixed them on the King's face for one long moment, desperate to try and remind him of all they had once had, to win him back to her, win him back from the dexterity of Anne's coils, which now encompassed him so fully. One long moment, and then she dropped her head, sweeping down into a curtsy to him, curtsying deeply, reverently, gracefully._

_For a second, she thought it had worked. For one perfect second, he hesitated, and almost drew his arm from Anne's. Mary held her breath. Would he – after all this time – would he?_

_No. Anne wound her slender arm around Henry's waist, saying something, something too low for Mary to hear. Anne wound her arm around his waist, and, just like that, he was hers again. Shaking his head slightly, King Henry dragged his eyes from her silhouetted figure, and turned to go back into the palace with Anne. _

_Mary moved to go after them, and then realised it was no use. She had had her chance, and she had blown it, lost him. She glared sullenly down at the river instead._

_**I love him**_

_**But when the night is over**_

_**He is gone – the river's just a river**_

_Its deep black waters, so useful to the Court for travelling from here to anywhere in London, no longer held any attraction for her, and sighing heavily, she turned to leave it. As she did so, she heard the cockerel in the stables start to crow. Dawn was not far off._

_**Without him the world around me changes**_

_**The trees are bare and everywhere the**_

_**Streets are full of strangers**_

_She went back into the palace, shivering with cold and bitter, frustrated, distress. The lowest of the servants – the spit boys, the chambermaids were already up, swarming around the palace, and creating quite a bustle as they went about their duties. One or two of them, who recognised her from when they used to meet her on her way back from the King's chambers, nodded and gave her a friendly smile as they dipped into respectful bows or curtsies, but she didn't respond. She didn't recognise them. The whole world had changed, and she with it. Without the King close to her, she didn't recognise anyone, even when her own maid-servant scurried by, carrying a pitcher that was to be filled with hot water._

_**I love him**_

_**But every day I'm learning**_

_**All my life I've only been pretending**_

_Her feet chose her path for her, pacing the corridors until she stopped outside Anne's rooms. George was there, waiting for Anne, as before, he had always waited for her._

_She sank into the window-seat beside him._

"_What are they doing?" she asked him in a whisper._

"_Anne's pleasuring him, but you know her. He hasn't had her yet."_

_Mary shook her head. Her sister's ambition and determination never ceased to amaze her._

"_Why does she do this? Why won't she just give in?"_

"_Because she wants to become his wife and Queen. You know that." George replied, stretching his arms above his head. Mary opened her mouth to reply, but a moan of pleasure – the King's moan - cut her off before she could even begin._

_She rose to her feet, and turned away. It was the final straw. To hear the King groaning underneath Anne the way he used to groan underneath her was just too much._

_And yet, it gave her an odd sort of comfort, too. It meant that she wasn't the only girl he'd wooed, taken as his own, and then discarded. It meant that she'd been disillusioning herself by shutting her eyes to his previous affairs, by pretending that this was different, that he really did love her. It seemed it was time she faced up to the truth._

_**Without me his world will go on turning**_

_**A world that's full of happiness **_

_**that I have never known**_

_However, just as she came to terms with the idea of that, George came up behind her, and laid a comforting arm on her shoulder._

"_He did love you too, Mary, you know. Little golden milk and honey Mary. He adored you, and you set us Boleyns up for this. Anne could never have entrapped him the way she has if you hadn't led the charge first, if you hadn't advanced our family fortunes sufficiently first. King Henry's only able to be happy with Anne because of you. He may have moved on in terms of desire, but he'll always have cause to be grateful to you – and so will Anne."_

"_But -" Mary turned to her brother, protest already forming on her lips. He held up a hand to stop her in her tracks._

"_Go back to bed, Marianne. Go back to bed, and know that you have served the Boleyns and Howards well. Go back to bed, and know that, secretly, you will always be my favourite little sister."_

_**I love him**_

_**I love him**_

_**I love him**_

_**But only on my own**_

_Mary moved through the palace as if she was in a trance, as she thought about what George had said. How could the King still love her, when he had never truly, wholly loved her in the first place?_

_Suddenly, as Mary let herself back into her little chamber, and took off her cloak, she understood. The King was just like the Duke of Suffolk. He could love and desire someone passionately with the whole of his being for an hour, a day, a week, perhaps more, but when the first flush of desire was over, so was his love. Right now, he desired Anne, just the way he had once desired her, but one day he would tire of Anne, as he had tired of her, for he had never truly loved any woman, except perhaps his young sister Mary. Henry Tudor saw attractive young women as alluring sexual conquests, nothing more. He had never loved her – not the way she had loved him, grateful though he was to her for clearing the way when he tired of her. The love between them had, sadly, been one-sided. Just the way, one day, the passion between him and her sister now would probably turn out to be one-sided. She herself was better off with a poorer, but wiser man – one who knew how to treat his wife properly._

_Mary rolled over in her empty bed, pulling the blankets up over her head. As she did so, she resolved that, when she awoke in the morning, she would cease to pine for the King, and instead begin to smile more kindly upon William Carey. She would show him that he had a chance at her heart after all._

_With that thought in mind, Mary rolled over and fell asleep._


	12. I Saw Him Once

**A/N: Hi, it's GreenField, this is a Catherine Parr/Thomas Seymour songfic to I Saw Him Once from Les Miserables. I do not own the song or the show – though I would love to! Please review **

Catherine Parr, Lady Latymer, walked in the garden's of her old husband's home in a state of quiet solitude. Lord Latymer was not well, and had been most challenging with his demands of late; therefore Catherine was delighted to have the opportunity to escape him. She thanked God that they were not currently at court, where he and she would have been on show all of the time, forced to smile fondly on each other as they had not done since the early days of their marriage.

She sat down on a small stone bench, as though to rest her wearied limbs, and quite suddenly caught sight of the most handsome stranger she had ever had the good fortune to look upon.

_I saw him once  
>Then he was gone<br>We were like dreamers at night  
>Who meet as in a trace, then part again! <em>

He was a very tall man, and broad about the shoulders and back, giving the impression of being someone very strong and powerful. He was dressed in a rich court fashion that made Catherine feel ashamed of her shabby dress, so out of fashion now, and he had a strong-jawed face that she could see even from this distance. He had a rather wild and curling dark beard, matching his dark, thick hair upon his head. He did not look around at her, but marched up to the house, leaving her heart thumping erratically. Who could he be, and what did he want here?

_Two phantoms in the shadows of the moon  
>Can people really fall in love so soon?<br>He walked alone  
>He seemed alone like me<br>Could he have known  
>That moment was my destiny? <em>

It was dusk in Winter, late for a call from court, but also late for a walk around the garden. Catherine could not bring herself to make her way inside and be greeted by the handsome stranger, not wanting him to see her in her old-fashioned and rather dishevelled state.

She had her back to him when the man emerged from the house. He spotted her from afar and, guessing that she must be the Lord's wife, he made his way over to her to be introduced.

"Lady Latymer?" when she heard his smooth, deep voice, Catherine paled and almost jumped out of her skin. She turned quickly, red in the face, her tattered red skirts swinging and almost whacking the man's legs.

"H-Hello, Sir. I mean, good day" she curtsied, "I am afraid I do not know your name"

He smiled and bowed elegantly in return, "I am Thomas Seymour, Madam, brother to dear Queen Jane"

"Oh!" Catherine immediately curtsied a little deeper, and Thomas' warm chuckle sent a not unpleasant prickle of heat over her skin. She was always so lonely here, she had forgotten what it was like to keep courtly company – hence why she was making such a fool of herself!

"I- I am Catherine, Sir, Lady Latymer" she mumbled, though he had already known half of that. She blushed even deeper and ducked her head in embarrassment.

"Do raise your head, Lady Catherine – you have naught to be embarrassed about. I should like to see your face properly"

Catherine's heart began to pound once again as she looked up and their eyes locked. She took a deep, shaky breath that she hoped he did not hear. And then, quite suddenly...

"Catherine! Catherine!" there was her husband, bellowing out of the window like a common peasant man, "Come in at once, you shall catch a chill!"

_I had to run away,  
>And it was like a dream<em>

_I saw him once_  
><em>The dream was true<em>

Catherine gasped and stammered her apologies, "I, um...I shall have to go, Sir Thomas. Um. Good evening to you, I – " she could think of nothing more to say, and so fled, holding up her skirts. She collapsed against the closed door once inside, warmth flooding over her body. She would probably never see him again – she must enquire why he had been there – but that one time, she felt, would be enough to sustain her her whole life long.

She had never felt like this before.

"Catherine!"

She ran to her husband, still smiling widely.

_I saw him once,_  
><em>And once will do!<em>


	13. Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

**A/N: It's GreenField again..this time it's Empty Chairs at Empty Tables, also from Les Miserables. It's about Thomas Wyatt after the five men that were executed with Anne are dead – George Boleyn, Francis Weston, Mark Smeaton, William Brereton and Henry Norris. Please review. Bold is memories.**

It was the first time that Thomas Wyatt had sat at the alehouse table alone.

He sat very quiet, very still. There were still many commoners lurking at tables nearby, but none of the raucous shouts and laughter of his five dearest friends, five men that had been his confidantes, his supporters, his inspirations, his whorehouse companions. Nursing the tankard of ale in hands that trembled, he recalled his meetings with each of them.

George Boleyn, his friend from childhood, had been his first companion to the alehouse. A bright, witty and handsome man who had been a poet also. They had composed many a verse together at this very table, him sitting on that very chair.

Francis Weston and Henry Norris had come across them there one day when looking for a new place to drink and whore, and had soon become part of the select group of men who were talented, courtly and could converse with ease.

Mark Smeaton had been the fourth new companion – he was beneath them, and had at first sat alone, not presumptuous enough to sit at their table, but once they heard him play his lute so beautifully, they encouraged his company, eager to speak with him and learn from him. He put music to some of the little ditties they wrote together, causing much amusement to them and the other regulars.

And finally, William Brereton, a warm hearted and considerate man who adored nothing more than his wife and family, and longed to raise his standing at court. Thomas had known and cared for them all.

_There's a grief that can't be spoken,  
>There's a pain goes on and on.<br>Empty chairs at empty tables,  
>now my friends are dead and gone.<em>

_Here they talked of revolution,_  
><em>here it was they lit the flame,<em>  
><em>here they sang about tomorrow and tomorrow never came.<em>

He remembered a conversation, many years before...a conversation that he felt had been the start of their deaths coming to them.

"**Anne's Queen now, my friends!" George cried, waving his tankard in excitement, sending ale slopping all over the table. Mark chuckled, snatching the tankard from him.**

"**Calm down, else we shall all be drenched!" he laughed, "And you are sure that she will make change for us?"**

"**Oh yes" George said firmly, "You see, she has already created the Church of England!"**

"**The very thing we have longed for" Francis agreed, nodding solemnly, "She has done a great thing for us"**

"**It is a revolution of the kindest sort!" William proclaimed, "No violence, no pain, no battle. No death. We have succeeded with the help of your good sister alone, and we need fight no more"**

"**It won't last" Thomas cautioned, "Anne will remain Queen, yes, but we cannot expect to have succeeded so easily! Someone will have to pay the price for our cause, else it is no cause at all"**

"**Always so glum, Thomas" Henry sighed, pushing more ale towards him, "Drink with us, be merry. Do not pine for Anne, and do not fear our downfall"**

"**All I am saying is that there will surely be some sacrifice" Thomas said, quite reasonably. George pushed his arm playfully.**

"**Hush up, Tom, and drink with me! Celebrate!"**

_From the table in the corner,_  
><em>They could see a world reborn,<em>  
><em>And they rose with voices ringing,<em>  
><em>And I can hear them now;<em>  
><em>The very words that they had sung<em>  
><em>Became their last communion<em>  
><em>On the lonely barricade, at dawn.<em>

They had walked up onto the scaffold, one after the other. He had escaped, but they had not. And he saw it all from the Bell Tower, watched his friends die two days before the woman he had loved all his life. He had watched them all, first George, then Mark, Francis, Henry, William. Women who had known them – their wives or lovers, daughters in one case, screamed and howled from the crowd of eager peasants who were just too bloodthirsty for anyone's liking.

And Thomas had lived. But why? Why had he been spared?

_Oh my friends, my friends forgive me  
>That I live and you are gone<br>There's a grief that can't be spoken,  
>There's a pain goes on and on...<em>

For a moment, as he sat there alone, he saw them once again. He could hear the sounds of their bawdy singing ringing in his ears. He could see the ghost of George, rocking on his chair, tankard in the air, the whores fluttering around him like bees to honey. Of Mark, playing his violin as he followed the song, beaming at the inclusion that he had long wanted, his ungainly hands moving with such grace as would shock anyone. Of Henry, scribbling letters of love to pretty Madge Shelton with help from Thomas himself, desperate to make a good impression on the pretty, buxom lady in waiting. Of William, gazing moodily into his drink and dreaming of his beautiful, kind wife, refusing the gaudy, painted whores that offered him everything for such a low price. And of Francis, chasing after every lady in the place, teasing them and making everyone laugh with his drunken antics, standing on the tabletops to sing at the top of his voice.

They had died for nothing, just like Anne. He had known that there would be deaths, he had said so – but never had he dreamed that _they _would die, that they would be the ones to leave him.

They had died for their cause, long after they had felt safe and secure, and he had been the one left to live without them, to pick up the pieces after their cruel and unjust deaths.

Why was he still living?

_Phantom faces at the window,_  
><em>Phantom shadows on the floor,<em>  
><em>Empty chairs at empty tables where my friends will meet no more.<em>  
><em>Oh my friends, my friends don't ask me<em>  
><em>what your sacrifice was for<em>  
><em>Empty chairs at empty tables<em>  
><em>Where my friend will sing no more.<em>


	14. Invisible

**_AN: Song is Taylor Swift's Invisible. Pairing is Lady Jane Grey/Barnaby FitzPatrick/Princess Elizabeth. Set Christmas 1551 – Jane is fourteen, Barnaby just past his fifteenth birthday and Elizabeth 18. By Lady Eleanor Boleyn_**

**She can't see the way your eyes will light up when you smile  
>She never noticed how you stop and stare whenever she walks by<br>And you can't see me wanting you the way you want her  
>But you are everything to me<strong>

Lady Jane Grey, daughter of the Marquess of Dorset, Lord Henry Grey and the late King Henry's cousin, Lady Frances Grey nee Brandon, stood beside Master Barnaby FitzPatrick, the young King Edward's best friend, watching the King toy listlessly with his food.

"He's not well, Barnaby." she murmured and Barnaby shook his head.

"He's fine, Jane. He's just impatient. The Lady Elizabeth is coming to Court this Yuletide and the King can't wait to see his Sweet Sister Temperance."

Barnaby's voice was steady, but Jane, who knew him better than anyone, could tell he was struggling not to betray emotion. But what kind of emotion? The Lady Elizabeth, four years older than Jane, three Barnaby's senior, was 18 and a very poised young woman. Though she was beautiful, with the fiery Tudor red hair and the snapping dark eyes of her mother, she dressed simply and modestly, as befitted a Protestant maiden of good birth and seemed to ignore any admiring glances sent her way. Barnaby didn't stand a chance.

Besides, they'd grown up together. Barnaby couldn't desire the Lady Elizabeth, could he?

"_By that logic, you shouldn't love him either, Jane." _A little voice sounded in her ear and she shook her head slightly to clear it. She and Barnaby were different than he and the Lady Elizabeth! They were closer in age, for one thing. And they both adored their Lord King, Edward. There was no reason why she couldn't love him… or why he shouldn't love her.

Except the Lady Elizabeth. As she was announced and the whole court sank into bows or curtsies to her, the acknowledged daughter of His Majesty King Henry, Jane stole a glance at Barnaby.

His eyes, usually the softest of greens, had darkened with desire and he couldn't tear his gaze away from the Lady Elizabeth as she, now bidden to rise from her curtsy by her brother, went to her seat on the dais. Tentatively, Jane put her hand on his sleeve.

**And I just want to show you, she don't even know you  
>She's never gonna love you like I want to<br>And you just see right through me but if you only knew me  
>We could be a beautiful miracle, unbelievable<br>Instead of just invisible, yeah**

He started at her touch, turning to her almost eagerly.

"Oh, Jane. It's you." His shoulders slumped, just for an instant, before he forced himself to smile at her. But it wasn't his proper smile; the one that made his eyes light up. It was his courtier's smile. She could tell because his eyes were still dark and brooding; dark with disappointed desire.

"I was just wondering if you'd like to dine with me and my family while the King dines with the Lady Elizabeth."

For the briefest of instants, Barnaby glanced at the dais; glanced desperately up there, while Jane's heart hammered equally desperately and then he turned back to her.

"Of course. It would be both an honour and a pleasure."

Offering her his arm, Barnaby walked with her to where her parents sat, waiting for her to join them. Jane was hard pressed to hide the way that she trembled with suppressed desire at the contact between them.

But she did it. She did it because she knew she had to. Barnaby didn't love her. He'd never loved her, or if he had, it wasn't in the way she wanted him to. The only one he loved in that way was the Lady Elizabeth. The passionately proud Lady Elizabeth.

**There's a fire inside of you that can't help but shine through  
>But she's never gonna see the light, no matter what you do<br>And all I think about is how to make you think of me  
>And everything that we could be<strong>

Nevertheless, though, as she sat beside her mother, the fearsome Lady Frances, listening to him talk about his childhood in Ireland, his time in the schoolroom with Edward, then Prince of Wales and his latest accomplishments – even his recent forays into France as a volunteer for the French against the Emperor, she couldn't help watching the way his eyes lit up as he smiled. Watching his smile and wishing it was for her. Watching his flamboyant gestures and wishing those arms were curled tight around her. Watching him charm her parents and wishing that she was his wife, his Baroness.

Wishing that she could go back in time, to the day when they first met and do things differently from the beginning so that he would fall for her instead of for the Lady Elizabeth.

**And I just want to show you, she don't even know you  
>She's never gonna love you like I want to<br>And you just see right through me but if you only knew me  
>We could be a beautiful miracle, unbelievable<br>Instead of just invisible**

**Like shadows in the faded light, oh, we're invisible  
>I just wanna open your eyes and make you realize<strong>

Because, unlike the Lady Elizabeth, she knew him. She knew who he was when he wasn't King Edward's best friend. She'd ridden out with him, played cards with him, debated theology with him.

She knew all the shades of green that his eyes could be, from the lightest jade they were when he was emotional and trying not to cry, to the sparkling emerald they were when he laughed, to the cloudy green of a stormy sea they favoured when he was in a temper.

She knew his birthday, December 13thand that he was afraid of snakes. She knew that he dreamed of one day becoming an adventurer and discovering foreign lands like the famous Portugese sailor, Christopher Columbus, but that, until the day came that he could, he was happy to stay here at Court, at Edward's side, or else fighting the heretical troops of the Emperor. She knew, as so few others did, that sometimes, just sometimes, he resented Edward his position as King of England and wished that he was the one on the throne and not just the King's best friend.

Did the Lady Elizabeth know all that about him? Jane doubted it.

So when the dancing started and he led her out on to the floor, she cast aside her usual shyness and danced as she'd never danced before. She danced as she imagined the Lady Elizabeth would; with fire and passion and yes, a hint of desperation. She danced to make him realise that she, Jane, the girl he'd grown up with and quite possibly viewed as a sister, was actually a better match for him than the red haired Lady he was so infatuated with.

It was no use though. Not one to be outdone by a mere courtier's daughter, for all she pretended modesty, the Lady Elizabeth talked her brother into dancing with her.

Instantly, Jane and Barnaby were eclipsed; pushed into the shadows by their monarch and his sister.

And Barnaby was quite happy to let it happen. He barely focussed on the remainder of their dance and, the moment it was over, kissed Jane's hand in farewell, hurrying to the side of the room, where he could stand with a glass of wine in one hand, admiring the Lady Elizabeth's grace and poise, feasting almost hungry eyes on her lithe figure as she clapped, twirled and spun around her brother.

**And I just want to show you, she don't even know you  
>Baby, let me love you, let me want you<br>You just see right through me but if you only knew me  
>We could be a beautiful, miracle, unbelievable<br>Instead of just invisible, oh, yeah**

Jane almost went after him. Almost fell to her knees and begged him to see what a passion she hid for him and how much the better man he would be if he only gave up his foolish longing for the unattainable and married her instead. Almost.

But then she realised what a spectacle it would cause; what an embarrassment it would be, both to her and to Barnaby. She loved him too much to put him through that.

So instead, she merely caught his eye, curtsied to him once more in thanks for their supper and their dance and then walked away, head held high, prepared to, once again, put her own feelings aside and play the wallflower in their doomed romance.

**She can't see the way your eyes will light up when you smile**


	15. Wherever You Will Go

**A/N: It's GreenField here, this is a songfic for George Boleyn and my character Elizabeth Hollington from my fanfiction 'An Affair of the Heart'. The song is 'Wherever You Will Go' by The Calling, which I unfortunately do not own. Set in 1536. Please review!**

_So lately, been wondering  
>Who will be there to take my place<br>When I'm gone you'll need love to light the shadows on your face  
>If a great wave shall fall yeah fall upon us all<br>Then between the sand and stone could you make it on your own._

George knew that he was going to have to leave her.

He felt like he'd always known, from the moment that they met, that they were not destined to grow old together. Of course, he hadn't – but it felt that way now.

She was sitting at his feet, her head tipped back into his lap as he brushed her luxurious copper curls. Her lips were parted slightly, smiling wistfully, and her eyes were closed in pleasure. She had always enjoyed the feel of his hands and the brush on her hair.

He was gazing down at her, thinking. He knew that he was going to have to leave her, whether it be in exile or in...death. But he wanted her to be happy, he had always cared about her happiness above all else. So did that mean giving her up to another man?

And could he do that?

_If I could, then I would_  
><em>I'd go wherever you will go<em>  
><em>Way up high or down low, I'd go wherever you will go<em>

_And maybe, I'll find out_  
><em>A way to make it back someday<em>  
><em>To-wards you, to guide you, through the darkest of your days<em>  
><em>If a great wave shall fall yeah fall upon us all<em>  
><em>Well then I hope there's someone out there<em>  
><em>who can bring me back to you<em>

"What are you thinking?" Elizabeth tilted her head back further, looking up at him, "You look ever so solemn"

"Do I?" George tried to smile, "I didn't mean to"

They lapsed back into companionable silence, and George picked up his train of thought once more. He really hoped that whatever was coming to him would be exile. Then he could come back for Elizabeth, ever so secretly, of course, and whisk her and the children away in the dead of night. Her husband would forget about his pretty, frivolous wife, in time, and would not miss the two girls – he had never wanted daughters. George could take them to France! Or he could send someone else to get them, if it was too dangerous.

He had to look after her. He couldn't bear for her to ever be unhappy. 

_If I could, then I would_  
><em>I'd go wherever you will go<em>  
><em>Way up high or down low, I'd go wherever you will go<em>

_Run away with my heart_  
><em>Run away with my hope<em>  
><em>Run away with my love<em>

"Come on!" Elizabeth prodded George's leg, "Tell me what you're thinking about"

"That I would follow you to the ends of the earth if it were necessary. If I could"

Elizabeth laughed, "What a peculiar idea! What on earth made you think like that?"

"You're the keeper of my heart. I'd have no choice but to follow you" George said quickly, though he meant it. He would not, could not, tell Elizabeth of his fears. It would distress her so, and he didn't want that. She was smiling.

"You're a fool" she said, "But I love you. You keep my heart in turn"

George didn't want to hear that. He didn't want to think about how deeply and irrevocably in love she was with him, as he was with her, because that loved would make it harder for her to move on. 

_I know now, just quite how_  
><em>My life and love might still go on<em>  
><em>In your heart, in your mind I'll stay with you for all of time<em>

_If I could, then I would_  
><em>I'd go wherever you will go<em>  
><em>Way up high or down low, I'd go wherever you will go<em>

At least he knew that she would never forget him, never replace him in her heart. Yes, he wanted her to be happy, to have a diversion once he was gone – but he didn't want her to fall out of love with him.

She took the hairbrush from his hands and perched on his lap instead. She placed light, butterfly kisses over his face and neck, her eyes half-closed, lips soft and pink.

"You'll always be there for me, won't you?" she asked suddenly, her mouth at his ear.

Maybe he should have said something then. But he didn't.

Looking back now, he wished he had.

Instead, he said yes.

_If I could turn back time_  
><em>I'd go wherever you will go<em>  
><em>If I could make you mine<em>  
><em>I'd go wherever you will go<em>  
><em>I'd go wherever you will go<em>


	16. The Rose

**AN: A Lady Eleanor Boleyn chapter, and my favourite yet! This is onesided William Carey/Mary Boleyn set to "The Rose", written by Amanda McBroom and made famous by Bette Midler. Assuming Catherine Carey was a royal bastard, but Henry tired of Mary in mid-1525, she has set this in 1525, just after Henry tired of her.**

_Some say love, it is a river**  
><strong>that drowns the tender reed.**  
><strong>Some say love, it is a razor**  
><strong>that leaves your soul to bleed.**  
><strong>Some say love, it is a hunger, **  
><strong>an endless aching need._

William Carey sat in his study, pen and ink before him. He was supposed to be writing a letter to his sister Mary, who was expecting a child soon, but the news, though he was happy for her, had caused him to start musing on Love itself.

It was strange, he thought, how one simple emotion could mean so many different things to different people. If you asked his new sister in law, Jane Parker, for example, she'd say love meant craving someone's presence, even when that person didn't want you around. His sister Anne, on the other hand, said love was like a river. An endless river with a tugging current that swept you off your feet and changed you forever. And, though his own wife, Mary, stayed resolutely silent on the subject, William knew what her feelings were.

To her, and indeed to any Boleyn, love was dangerous. It left you open, vulnerable. To them, love was like a sword; a blade intended to cut, not your physical body, but your heart, your mind and your soul.

_I say love; it is a flower, **  
><strong>and you its only seed._

William wasn't sure he agreed with them. To him, love wasn't dangerous. It was more likely to be the victim of circumstances. To him, love was more like a delicate flower that really needed nurturing if it was to survive.

And, as there was a knocking on the door and Mary, his beautiful wife Mary, looked in, he realised what that flower looked like. Or at least, what it looked like in human form. It looked like her. Its petals were the texture of her creamy skin and the same shade of honeyed gold as her long silky hair. Its roots were her slender limbs and waist; so slender that William could encircle them with both hands and was always afraid he might break them. They were tougher than they looked though. He knew that. Roots always were.

Her gaze and voice, which reached him now, were like sweet nectar; a bee's favoured substance.

"William? Are you coming to bed, husband? It's late."

"Not yet, Mary. I have to finish my letter for my sister first."

_It's the heart afraid of breaking**  
><strong>that never learns to dance.**  
><strong>It's the dream afraid of waking**  
><strong>that never takes a chance._

Mary nodded, understanding. "Send her my regards."

With that, she withdrew. William watched her go, pain stabbing his heart like a thorn. Though Mary was perfectly calm and polite, she wasn't the girl he'd married. She wasn't the girl he had, despite himself, fallen in love with. That girl was gone, swept away by the flood of her passion for the King. The King who no longer wanted her. The King who had destroyed her and left William to pick up the pieces. Left him to try to salvage his marriage; his marriage to a girl who'd built a wall around herself because she didn't want to get hurt again; didn't want to take any more chances.

Damn Thomas Boleyn and his ambitions! Damn His Majesty for taking a shine to Mary! Damn Mary for reciprocating his feelings! Damn him for not stopping her! For not stopping them all!

_It's the one who won't be taken,**  
><strong>who cannot seem to give,**  
><strong>It's the soul afraid of dyin'**  
><strong>that never learns to live._

William buried his face in his hands, letter all but forgotten. If only there was something he could do for her. If only he could help her; help his milk and honey Maid Marian.

A memory flashed before his eyes unbidden. Himself, standing in Mary's bedchamber the day she moved into her new apartments. "_When you are sent back to me, perhaps a month from now, perhaps a year, I will try to remember this day. I will try to remember that, today at least, you were more a girl than a Boleyn."_

Hadn't he promised her that? More, hadn't he promised, before God, to love her and cherish her, to have her and to hold her, for better or for worse, until death parted them?

Of course he had. They were the words of the wedding Mass.

Then shouldn't he live up to them? Shouldn't he show her that he still loved her, despite everything? Shouldn't he treat her little girl, Catherine, like his own? Shouldn't he try to teach her that the past was the past, that they could live together now, as though the last three years had never been, as though they were still just man and wife, man and wife and nothing else.

Of course he should. It was his duty. But it was more than that. It was that, if he didn't, no one would. No one would help her and Mary, his beautiful Mary, who had once been radiant with King Henry's favour, would stay a shrinking wallflower. Would remain, all her life, the discarded whore, the broken woman, the soul who, try as she might, couldn't learn to live with herself and what she had done.

_When the night has been too lonely**  
><strong>and the road has been too long,**  
><strong>and you think that love is only**  
><strong>for the lucky and the strong,_

_Just remember in the winter**  
><strong>far beneath the bitter snows**  
><strong>lies the seed that with the sun's love**  
><strong>in the spring becomes the rose._

All of a sudden determined, William thrust aside his letter. Anne and her new child could wait. Mary could not.

Climbing the stairs, he heard the unmistakeable sound of muffled sobbing coming from his bedchamber. He almost turned tail and ran, but, firm in his new resolution, he merely changed into his nightshirt in the outer chamber and then lifted the latch.

"Mary?" He asked tentatively. He got no answer, but then, he hadn't expected one. Instead, he merely slid under the covers and held his wife as she sobbed.

"William?" Her voice was thin, almost shy.

"Yes. It's all right. I won't hurt you."

"I know."

They lay like that, in silence, for a few minutes, Mary's slim body periodically heaving with sobs. All of a sudden, she choked out. "I'm sorry, William! I didn't mean…any of it…I just…"

"I know, I know." Despite himself, he stroked her hair, forcing himself to forget the fact that another man's hands had done exactly the same. He rocked her in his arms like a child until she quietened. Until her breathing evened out and she was definitely asleep.

Then he rose above her on one elbow to watch her pale face. It was almost impassive, her inborn Boleyn nature forcing her to keep her emotionless Howard mask in place, even while she slept, but there was a definite, though uncertain, hint of a smile playing around her rosy lips.

William sighed. It was a start.


	17. Jar of Hearts

**A/N: Hey, it's GreenField here, I've fallen in love with this song and just had to write it! Song is Jar of Hearts by Christina Perri, which I do not own. Pairing in Princess Mary/Phillip of Bavaria. Please review!**

_I know I can't take one more step towards you  
>cause all that's waiting is regret<br>don't you know i'm not your ghost anymore  
>you lost the love i loved the most<em>

_I learned to live, half alive_  
><em>and now you want me one more time<em>

She could still remember the day she went looking for him.

She hadn't wanted to fall in love with him, never him, not a Lutheran!

But dear God help her, she had. She'd fallen in love with him on sight. The love had deepened as they talked, laughed, danced...and had blossomed when they kissed. Oh, that kiss! She could still taste it on her lips, that next day, the touch of his mouth on hers, how it had sent shivers through her body, made her heart flutter like the wings of a frightened butterfly, caused her very first flush of desire to tint her cheeks pink.

So the next day, she went looking for him. When he was nowhere to be found, she went to Anne of Cleves, a woman she now adored, because this woman had bought Phillip to her.

"He had to leave, Lady Mary" Anne of Cleves looked puzzled, "Did he not say? He said he vould tell you"

"Leave?" her lips had framed the words, unable to say them out loud. Anne's face had creased in sympathy, but when she reached out to grasp Mary's hand, Mary jerked away as though she had been slapped.

"Yes, dear Lady, I am very sorry. I know you got on vell vith him. I think you harboured an affection vor him – "

"You have no idea what you speak of, Madam" snapped Mary harshly, resorting to her usual way of coping with grief – pretending that no love had been lost, "I will leave you now. Do not tell your beloved nephew that I asked for him. He means nothing to me"

And now he was back.

_who do you think you are?_  
><em>runnin' 'round leaving scars<em>  
><em>collecting a jar of hearts<em>  
><em>tearing love apart<em>  
><em>you're gonna catch a cold<em>  
><em>from the ice inside your soul<em>  
><em>don't come back for me<em>  
><em>who do you think you are?<em>

"My Lady Mary" God help her, he was handsomer than ever! Those dark, swarthy looks, glossy curly hair, and such warm, penetrating eyes, eyes that made her feel as though she might swoon into a dead faint. But she would not, of course, for he had hurt her, and she cared nothing for him. Of course.

"Sir" her reply was short and cold. She did not dare even open her mouth, for she knew that words would just come tumbling out. She would not give him the satisfaction.

He looked startled by her frosty response, "I – are you well, Lady Mary?"

"Quite well" she said coolly, but couldn't resist adding, "I am quite well now, though I was not for some time"

"I am sorry that I had to leave with such haste after our previous acquaintance" Phillip responded awkwardly. He hadn't expected her to be so..difficult. He thought that they might just carry on as they had been before._  
><em>

"It mattered not to me" Mary replied, closing her eyes briefly, hoping to hide the lie.

_I hear you're asking all around  
>if i am anywhere to be found<br>but i have grown too strong  
>to ever fall back in your arms<em>

_I've learned to live, half alive_  
><em>and now you want me one more time<em>

"As soon as I arrived I came to find you, Lady Mary" he said, hoping to thaw her.

"I expect that you did, seeing as your Aunt is no longer here and I am the only other courtier with whom you are acquainted" said Mary, sounding unimpressed. Phillip rather wanted to hit something in frustration. Why was she being like this? Had what they had meant something less to her than it had to him?

"Lady Mary, I had hoped that we might continue in our previous friendship. You did not reply to my letters" there, he had said it now.

And indeed, she had not replied to his letters. She had known his handwriting, and had flung them into the fire, unopened. Only once had she cried while doing this. She was strong, let it not be put about that she was feeble.

"I did not have the time nor inclination to reply to your letters" Oh, such a lie! But she could not let him break down the wall she had built, could not let him conquer her only to break her heart again, as he had probably done to countless women before.

_Who do you think you are?_  
><em>runnin' 'round leaving scars<em>  
><em>collecting a jar of hearts<em>  
><em>and tearing love apart<em>  
><em>you're gonna catch a cold<em>  
><em>from the ice inside your soul<em>  
><em>don't come back for me<em>  
><em>who do you think you are?<em>

"Lady Mary, how have I offended you?" Phillip had finally lost his patience; he did have a tendency to be hot-headed, but he loved Mary, with a passion, and had assumed that she felt the same. Their kiss...oh, their kiss, he remembered it like it were yesterday, though it had been so long now.

"You have not offended me at all" Mary lied, angling her body away from him and picking at the embellishments on her dress instead. She had to hide her heart, her pain, and above all, the love in her eyes. She would not give in to him, not as long as she remained her mother's daughter.

"Lady Mary, you are vexing me most highly! I can see quite clearly that I have upset you, for you are so cold towards me, and I beseech you to tell me what I have done so I can put it to rights!"

"You wish to know what you have done? How you have offended me?" Mary had snapped at last, and oh, she would not cry, no! She would be fierce instead, she would not weep! She would use her temper to wound him as he had wounded her, but no tears would fall from her injured eyes.

_It took so long just to feel alright  
>remember how to put back the light in my eyes<br>I wish I had missed the first time that we kissed  
>cause you broke all your promises<br>and now you're back  
>you don't get to get me back<em>

"Yes! Yes, I must know!" Phillip's eyes were bright with anger, "What have I done?"

"You have broken my heart!" she shrieked, and then wished she had not. What a weak, feminine way to put it! But it was true, she could not deny it.

Phillip's anger abated, his face softened, "So you love me too?"

"I did, once" she would repent for all these lies, God help her.

"But not now?" she had not expected him to look so crestfallen, like she had pierced him through the heart.

"No" she paused, "Just because you have returned, does not mean that you can have me back"

Phillip could say nothing, there were no words for his pain.

"Now if you don't mind" Mary turned away from him, facing her desk, which was piled high with petitions "I have much to do. I bid you a good day, Ph – Sir"

He still could not speak, think, breathe. He could walk though, and he did, because it hurt to be before her in her indifference.

When he was gone, she sobbed.

_Who do you think you are?_  
><em>running around leaving scars<em>  
><em>collecting a jar of hearts<em>  
><em>and tearing love apart<em>  
><em>you're gonna catch a cold<em>  
><em>from the ice inside your soul<em>  
><em>so don't come back for me<em>  
><em>dont come back at all<em>


	18. Amazing Grace

**AN: This is a Princess Mary songfic from Lady Eleanor Boleyn, set to Amazing Grace, because she loves the song and it suits Mary. The story starts in 1535, when Mary is serving her little sister, Elizabeth.**

**Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,  
>That saved a wretch like me...<br>I once was lost but now am found,  
>Was blind, but now, I see.<strong>

"Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee." The Lady, no the _Princess_ Mary Tudor, once the Pearl of King Henry's world, his Princess of Wales and his greatest treasure in Christendom, murmured the words, seeking solace in them. A respite from the bitter shame and humiliation that she was forced to endure day after day as she went about her assigned tasks in the toddler Elizabeth's household.

A Princess forced to act as a maid; to wait upon her bastard sister. There could be no greater suffering in the world.

Yet Mary endured. The inner peace she found by sliding the cool beads of her rosary through her fingers every night, coupled with her training as a Princess and her utter conviction that she was right, saw her through.

Wretched her situation might be, but all was not lost. Her father might yet come to his senses. He _would _come to his senses. He had to.

And until that day, Mary would live in hope. She would do as her father bid her, as far as she could. She would even love him, as both Christ and her own feelings commanded.

However, she would never relinquish her rightful title; the title of Princess.

Nor her faith. Her father might have insisted that England succumb to heresy; he might even demand that his new child, Mary's half-sister, was brought up outside the comfort of God's one True Church, but she, Princess Mary, would never surrender. Not after what her faith had done for her.

Why, Mary could remember, to the day, when she had become a true believer; the day she had stopped going to Mass as a mere matter of course, but instead, gone because it meant something to her.

**T'was Grace that taught...  
>my heart to fear.<br>And Grace, my fears relieved.  
>How precious did that Grace appear...<br>the hour I first believed.**

_It was the autumn of 1532 and Mary was playing the virginals, running her hands over the keys skillfully. She was completely lost in what she was doing, for she loved music and it was one of her few pleasures, now that she was no longer allowed to see her mother._

_Her mother. At the thought of her, Mary's heart throbbed and she unconsciously changed the tune she was playing. Instead of the swift folk tune she had been playing moments earlier, her fingers were flying through an old Spanish ballad, one of her mother's favourites._

_A feeble honour; hardly worth being called even a tribute, especially since the woman it honoured was miles away and unable to hear, but it was one of the few things Mary could do for her beloved mother now._

_So absorbed was Mary in what she was doing that she didn't hear her governess's light tread behind her. The first she knew of Lady Salisbury's presence was the gentle hand on her shoulder._

"_Forgive me, Princess, but the Duke of Suffolk is here to see you."_

"_Of course, Salisbury. Let him in."_

_So saying, Mary rose, smoothing her skirts with the flat of her hand and letting Lady Salisbury tidy her hair before turning to bestow a smile upon her unexpected guest. "Your Grace."_

"_Princess Mary. It is good to see you."_

_Charles Brandon bowed and smiled as he kissed her hand, but there was a grim look in his eye that belied his affable manner. It set Mary's heart racing._

"_Your Grace?" she inquired again. "You bring news from Court. Is my father well?"_

"_His Majesty is in the best of health, Your Highness, Thank God, but I still fear that what I have to say will not please you in the least."_

_Despite herself, Mary's eyelids flickered shut. Taking a deep breath, she forced them open again, meeting the Duke's piercing gaze as composedly as she could._

"_Go on, Lord Suffolk."_

"_Your father – I mean – Two days ago, His Majesty invested the Lady Anne Boleyn as Marquess of Pembroke."_

"_Marquess, Your Grace?" Mary couldn't help the question._

"_Marquess, My Lady Princess, not Marchioness. His Majesty ennobled the Lady Anne with the male form of the title. She is Marquess in her own right. And I'm afraid there's more. We are to go to France in a fortnight. The Lady Anne is to be presented to King Francis as your father's future bride."_

_Mary never knew how she made it through the rest of that interview with the Duke of Suffolk. She scarcely remembered thanking him or exchanging the final pleasantries, much less calling Lady Salisbury to see him out. It was as though she was in a trance._

_The moment the door swung shut behind him, that trance broke._

_She collapsed to the floor as her legs gave way, sobbing brokenly, unleashing a storm of tears; tears she had held back ever since her father became infatuated with his raven-haired harlot._

"_Princess! Oh, my Princess! What is it?"_

_Lady Salisbury's hand was on her back, rubbing, stroking, ineffectively trying to bring comfort. Mary raised a tearstained face to her governess._

"_Papa's made __**her**__ Marquess of Pembroke! He's taking __**her**__ to France. He really means to marry her, Salisbury! I shall never see Mama again. Never!"_

_There was nothing Lady Salisbury could say to that. She could only hold Mary as she wept, whispering futile words of comfort._

_Later, after the first frenzied storm of weeping had passed, Mary was knelt before the predieu, begging for mercy, for her father to somehow change his mind, for some word of her mother._

"_Sweet Jesus, I implore you." she whispered, a catch in her throat._

_Suddenly, Lady Salisbury knocked on the door and, before Mary could tell her to go away, opened it._

"_I apologise for the intrusion, Princess, but Ambassador Chapuys is here to see you."_

_With a sigh, Mary heaved herself to her feet._

"_All right, Salisbury. Tell His Excellency that I'm coming."_

_If Mary, with her red eyes and dishevelled hair and gown, looked anything less than the perfectly groomed Princess she usually was, Ambassador Chapuys didn't seem to notice. He kissed her hand just as he always did, and, as he straightened, pressed a tightly rolled piece of parchment into her hand. A piece of parchment sealed with a crowned pomegranate._

_At the sight of it, the words Mary had whispered so passionately just a few minutes earlier; _"Lord, please. Just let me have word of my mother. I beseech you. Just one word, please,"_ came back to her_. _It seemed that God had heard her prayers after all._

_With a smile that even the Ambassador couldn't quite read, she beckoned him to a comfortable seat beside her._

**Through many dangers, toils and snares...  
>we have already come.<br>T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far...  
>and Grace will lead us home.<strong>

And so far, her trust in God was working. She was being made to wait on the sister who had usurped her place, both in the Succession and their father's heart, yes, but Elizabeth was a sweet child. She, at least, was innocent in all this. She didn't ask to be born the child of an adulterous and illegal marriage. Mary would make sure to treat her well when she herself became Queen.

For she would become Queen. There was no doubt of it. Her father might have bastardised her, but there were still plenty of people who refused to know her as anything other than their Princess.

Fisher and More, for instance. Two eminent men, both learned scholars, and respected, not just in England, but also abroad on the Continent.

And yet, for some reason, her father still refused to hurt her. Despite the influence of his so called wife, he had left her pretty much alone since he placed her in attendance upon her baby sister. He hadn't even placed her under house arrest, as many had feared he might. Was that not a sign that God Himself, the Father Almighty, was watching over her and would lead her to her rightful place on the throne in the end?

Of course it was. She just had to have faith.

**When we've been here ten thousand years...  
>bright shining as the sun.<br>We've no less days to sing God's praise...  
>then when we've first begun.<strong>

And faith was, as everyone knew, something Mary had a lot of. Even Lady Bryan, Elizabeth's Lady Governess, irritable though she was, had been heard to remark that, provided Elizabeth prayed within the boundaries of King Henry's Church, she would do well to follow the Lady Mary's example of dedication to her devotions as she grew older.

Whenever she heard this, Mary would merely cross herself and then go on with whatever she was doing.

After all, there was no need for Lady Bryan to know exactly what Mary was praying for. God knew and He would answer her prayers. There was no doubt about it. He was eternal and He answered everyone's prayers. One way or another.

Mary just had to stand firm; like a rock, like Peter, and be a shining beacon of hope to all who, secretly or not, still adhered to the old ways. She had to be their sun; their Tudor Rose.

If she did that, then God would see her crowned and anointed here on Earth as her namesake was in Heaven. One day. Mary knew it might take time, but for her rightful throne, she was prepared to have infinite patience and make any sacrifice. Why , she would happily wait ten thousand years, if it only brought her what she craved so badly.

And it would. Mary was sure of that and so she endured. Endured and even managed to smile upon her younger sister when she clamoured to be held, petted, played with.

For this was just a trial that the Father had set her. A trial she had to overcome in order to prove herself worthy of being Queen. It was not hers to question, but merely to obey, for He did it for love of her. The moments of His Grace, be it in a rare smuggled letter from her mother, or the news that the Lady Pembroke's latest pregnancy had failed to bring forth an heir for England, was proof enough of that.

"_Yes." _Mary thought, as she rose from her little predieu and prepared for bed, _"If I can only hold strong, then someday, someday soon, this will all be over. Either the harlot's hold on my father will be broken, or else, God will see fit to call me to the throne. When that day comes, whenever it is, I shall be ready. I shall be reunited with my mother and sign myself "Maria, Regina de Anglia."_

**Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,  
>That saved a wretch like me...<br>I once was lost but now am found,  
>Was blind, but now, I see.<strong>


	19. Catherine Howard's Fate

**A/N: A Kitty Howard songfic set to Catherine Howard's Fate. I love this song so much. Thank you for reading, please review!**

Catherine sat, alone, in her chamber. To all that observed her they thought that she looked like a statue, a classically beautiful silhouette framed in the moonlight from her window. The stars that sparkled in the sky had once glittered in her eyes, though now they were gone, and the luminous light from the moon had once given her skin a youthful glow, though now it sufficed only to make her look like a ghost.

She was a pathetic, pitiable figure. She had none of the strength of her cousin Anne, none of the haughty designs that had allowed Anne to float through a similar situation with her sanity, at least, intact. Catherine was not nearly as sane. She had screamed, she had wept, she had begged – when Archbishop Cranmer had come to Syon house to tell her why she had been imprisoned, she had fallen at his feet and clung sobbing to his robes; it had taken three of her new serving maids to remove her, and Cranmer's eyes had welled with tears. So young, so young, to have fallen so far. A child.

_Oh, to my dearest ruler and lord  
>Merciful husband<br>Noblest of kings...  
>Your heart of gold has long since tarnished<br>In my chamber  
>What will the morning bring?<em>

Catherine remembered a time when she had been the most powerful woman in England. Not so long ago now -two years. Hardly any time at all. Two years married to a fat, corpulent monarch that she did not love, no children, no real friends, none of the love, passion and affection she had been so used to at Lambeth. But Henry had pursued her, his hideous piggy eyes followed her, his flabby face bright with lust, an old man with a longing for a fifteen year old girl. And she had gone along with it, smiling and laughing and sparkling as she had been told to, pandering to his every whim. She had flattered him endlessly, she had gone to bed with him with a false, simpering smile, pretended to desire him, pretended to enjoy their nights together, when his massive body heaved above hers.

And now she was locked up, waiting for a verdict that she had already predicted. The morning would bring a blood red dawn, and soon after her own blood would run over the Tower green, and her life, so short and sweet, would be over. Over, with a swing of an axe, a flash of metallic light on a dreary February morning.

_Was it my heart that doth betray me  
>'Cause I loved more than one man?<br>Is it true your wear a wounded spirit?  
>Pray let me mend it and make our love anew...<em>

And then Thomas Culpepper had burst into her life. He had burst like the music of angels, the light of the sun. They had met once before, long ago, but this time was different. This time he was young, athletic, handsome, bright, witty, passionate...all the things that her husband was not. Henry might be able to put a crown on her head, might be able to buy her jewels and dresses, furs and horses, but he could not buy her heart. Thomas could not hope to compete with the riches that Henry lavished upon her, but he could give her love, affection, he could bring delight and pleasure to her bed, and that was more than enough. She gave him her heart.

Turned out, she should have kept it. Turned out, she might as well have given her soul to the Devil, for all the good it did her giving it to Thomas.

_Allow me to be your humble servant_  
><em>Once again, as before...<em>  
><em>Are you like the others, so quick to judge?<em>  
><em>And for this the queen must fall<em>

And now she was reduced to begging, pleading. She had begged Henry one morning on his way to the chapel, the morning of her arrest, and he had just walked on by. But she had seen it, seen the softening in his eyes, the tear rolling down his flaccid cheek, his heart melting upon sight of her. If they had not dragged her away, she was sure she might have saved herself. She could have gone on to marry...not Thomas, not after he had blamed her for the whole affair, making her sentence more severe, but with another man, maybe. A young man. She could have children. She had never liked children before – ugly, squalling things – but now that her time was running out she became aware of a sudden, desperate desire to have children.

They all judged her and had sentenced her without trial, without mercy. Oh, and all she wanted was mercy! She would retire to the country, never go to court again, even accept exile in France, but she did not want to die! Not now, not when she had so much of her life left, so much love to give. So much joy that sang and laughed in her heart.

Oh, her foolish heart. Love was a daydream.

She had no time left for love.

The next time a maidservant walked past the young Queen, she became aware that the picturesque statue that was Catherine Howard was weeping.

_Was it my heart that doth betray me  
>'Cause I loved more than one man?<br>Truth within the writings of a letter  
>Signed and sealed poor Catherine Howard's fate...<br>Truth within the writings of a letter  
>Signed and sealed poor Catherine Howard's<em> fate...


	20. Broken

**AN: **From Lady Eleanor Brandon, nee Boleyn tells her daughter Margaret about the day she lost her older sister, Anne Boleyn. Set to Broken by Seether and Amy Lee. Takes place on the 19th of May, 1544.

**I wanted you to know I love the way you laugh **

**I wanna hold you high and steal all your pain away **

**And I keep your Photograph, I know it serves me well.**

**I wanna hold you high and steal your pain **

"_Mama?" The gentle voice at the door startled me and I jumped, looking up to see my oldest daughter, Margaret, holding a painting in her hand._

"_Margaret. What is it, darling?"_

"_Can I ask you something?"_

"_Of course. Come here." I beckoned Margaret to sit down beside me and show me what she had in her hand. "What's that?"_

"_Aunt Anne's coronation portrait."_

"_Is it really? God, I haven't looked at that for years. Give it to me." I tried to keep my voice nonchalant, hide the turbulent emotions that were racing through me, as they always did on this day every year and always would._

_Margaret handed it over and I traced my sister's features delicately, taking in her bright blue eyes, her beautiful raven hair, loose beneath the jewels of St Edward's Crown and the curve of her belly beneath her white and gold Robes of State._

"_She was pregnant with Elizabeth at the time." I murmured and Margaret nodded._

"_I know."_

_We sat in silence for a moment, before Margaret blurted "What was it like? Losing her, I mean?"_

_I glanced sideways at my oldest daughter, trying to gauge whether I should tell her or not. Her blue-green eyes were steady as they held mine and suddenly, I realised that she was more a young woman than a little girl. It was time I told her. She deserved to know._

"_Like losing a part of myself." I confessed. Sensing I needed comfort, Margaret reached across for my hand as I suddenly started to talk as though I would never stop, losing myself in the memories of that fateful day, eight years earlier._

"_I watched my sister forgive the executioner and then filed on to the scaffold behind her, listening keenly to every word she said. It was her last day on Earth; the last time I would see her alive. I didn't want to forget a single instant of it._

"_Good Christian people, I have come here to die, according to the law, for by the law I am judged to die and therefore I will speak nothing against it. But I pray God will save the King and send him long to reign over you, for there never was a gentler nor a more merciful Prince. To me, too, he was always a good and gentle sovereign lord, of that I may assure you. And if anyone seeks to meddle with my cause, I beseech them to judge me as fairly as they can. Thus I take my leave of the world and of you all. I beg and desire you all to pray for me."_

_Those are exactly the words she said, sweetheart. I know they weren't anything special, that they were the simple, penitent words of any condemned prisoner, but, because it was my sister saying them, they suddenly meant so much more. Tears pricked my eyelids and, involuntarily, I glanced towards the gates of the Tower. Surely the King would change his mind. Surely! If only for the sake of the love they'd once shared. Surely he'd spare her. Give Elizabeth back her mother. Give me back my sister._

_But now Anne was turning to us, the ladies who stood behind her. She was embracing us each in turn, saying her final farewells._

_Watching her, I thought how composed she looked and wished that I could just fling myself into her arms, like I had done as a child and never let her go. Stop this travesty from happening. She would have done it for me, I was sure."_

"_Well, why didn't you then?" To Margaret, young and proud and beautiful, with the world at her feet and her whole life ahead of her, it seemed the most natural thing in the world._

**Because I'm broken when I'm lonesome **

**And I don't feel right when you're gone away **

**You've gone away you don't feel me here anymore **

"_Because as I looked at her properly, I realised that, in a way, Anne was ready to go. She'd prepared herself for death. I couldn't stop that. To save her now, even if it was by pulling her off the scaffold and riding away with her like Lancelot and Guinevere from the Arthurian legends, would have broken that sense of dignity that she'd cloaked herself in for her final hours. And I couldn't do that to her."_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because I'd promised her. I'd promised her that we'd act like the royalty we were until the moment she died. It's the same reason I didn't throw myself into her arms. A Queen of England's sister; the King's sister in law, would never do that._

"_And anyway," my voice softened as I remembered the way Anne had looked at me as she handed me the necklace that I still wore, all these years later, "It was too late. Your Aunt hugged me tight and handed me her necklace, gave me one last look, but even then, she was already half in Heaven. I couldn't have held Fate back. Ever."_

"_You wanted to, though, didn't you?"_

"_Of course I did! She was my sister. I wanted to save her; to turn back time and give her her whole life back, but I couldn't. All I could do was to hold back the burning tears and kneel to her; kneel to her as my Queen one final time. I'm sure your father's told you that story."_

**The worst is over now and we can breathe again **

**I wanna hold you high, you steal my pain away **

**There's so much more to learn and nobody left to fight **

**I wanna hold you high and steal your pain **

"_He has, yes."_

"_Good. Because, Margaret, no matter what the King says, she __**was**__ our Queen. She was our Queen almost three years; a thousand days. A thousand days that can never be rewritten, no matter how much the King wants them to be. They can never be anything other than what they were. Never."_

_Despite myself, my voice cracked on the last word. Margaret slipped her arms around me, holding me gently. I couldn't help wondering when she had become the one to comfort me, rather than the other way around. I couldn't pinpoint a particular moment when it had started to happen, yet somehow, it seemed the right thing to do; to let her hold me as I wept silently._

"_It'll be all right, Mama. She wasn't a witch. I know she wasn't. You know it, I know it, Papa knows it. Annie, George and Will know it too. We'll remember her as she really was. A woman. Spirited, determined, passionate, yes, but a woman nonetheless. And we'll tell the others that too. Anyone who asks. We'll change the way people think of her. I promise."_

_Touched by Margaret's words, I pushed my hair behind my shoulders to reveal the golden B pendant where it hung, as always, round my throat._

"_This will be yours one day, Margaret. Will you treasure it for me? Treasure it in memory of her?"_

"_Always."_

_Margaret kissed me, then rose. I watched her go through a blur of tears, unable to believe my oldest daughter, my precious angel, Henry's little Duchess, as he'd always called her, was so grown up._

_She was so like her father; like her aunt. Anne's legacy was in safe hands with girls like her and her cousin Princess Elizabeth. I knew that._

**Because I'm broken when I'm open **

**And I don't feel like I am strong enough **

**Because I'm broken when I'm lonesome **

**And I don't feel right when you're gone away **

_But it didn't ease the pain of having lost my sister. When Henry, no doubt told by Margaret that I needed him, came in to see me, I raised a tearstained face to his._

"_I can't do this, Henry! I can't live without her! I can't!"_

_Had it been any other day of the year, Henry would probably have feared for my sanity. As it was, he knew exactly what I meant and what I needed. Kneeling down beside me, he took my hand in his and cupped my cheek in his other hand, forcing me to look at him._

"_Yes, you can, darling. Yes you can. I know you can. And Anne knows it too. She's watching you from Heaven. Watching you take care of her daughter, as any Aunt and Godmother should. She loves you dearly, My Lady Duchess of the Summer Sun, She loves you and is proud of you. That will never change. I promise."_

"_It's not enough, though! You know it's not enough, Henry!"_

_We had this conversation every year and by now, Henry did know. With a sigh, he reached out for me, taking my sewing, which had lain disregarded in my lap for quite some time now, and laying it aside before pulling me into his arms._

"_I know, Eleanor. I know. God rest her soul."_

_Then he let me weep myself dry of tears; sob into his chest as he rocked me until I had nothing left to cry with._

_Eventually, worn out by the emotions of the day, I fell asleep against him. Wordlessly, he picked me and bore me back to our chamber as though I were a child. It was there that I woke up the next morning, curled into his warmth, with tears still drying on my face._

**Because I'm broken when I'm open **

**And I don't feel like I am strong enough **

**Because I'm broken when I'm lonesome **

**And I don't feel right when you're gone away **

**You've gone away you don't feel me here anymore **


	21. Chasing Cars

**A/N: Greenfield here, I think it's my turn...George Boleyn/Elizabeth Hollington (my character from An Affair of the Heart), set to the song Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol, which I plan to have as my wedding song Please review!**

_We'll do it all  
>Everything<br>On our own_

_We don't need_  
><em>Anything<em>  
><em>Or anyone<em>

"The bitch!" George exploded, storming into Elizabeth's chamber. She was sitting at her table, in front of a looking glass, completing her toilette with a pale pink powder to her cheeks. At George's sudden entrance, she dropped the little tin of powder, and it fluttered in flakes over her blue gown. She scowled.

"Look what you made me do! Now, whatever is the matter?" she had picked up her handkerchief and was dabbing anxiously at the mark, only looking at George from the corner of her eye.

George flopped into a chair, "She's sending me to France!"

Elizabeth looked up, dropping the scrap of lace and putting down the remaining powder in the tin, "Who? What?"

"Anne, of course! Who do you think? The demon seems to think that now she is Queen she can order me to do whatever she pleases! Well she's wrong there, I tell you now – "

"Why is she sending you to France?" Elizabeth pressed, feeling slightly betrayed herself. Anne knew how she hated being apart from George.

"She wants me to negotiate marriage for the Princess. With the Dauphin" George was frowning angrily, "She cannot make me go"

"She's your sister, George. Your favourite sister. And you used to want to be an Ambassador, before you and I were together. She probably thought you might be pleased" Elizabeth moved over to the chair where he sat and knelt before him, cupping her face in his hands, "Your favourite sister, love" she cooed, "Don't be angry with her"

"But she thinks to send me away from you! She said it might take up to three months!"

Elizabeth hid her alarm in an attempt to soothe her lover, "We don't need her, darling, even if she is Queen. We have each other. We don't need Anne. Forget about it"

"But I leave next week!"

"Forget about it now, love" Elizabeth's voice was gentle, soothing, almost hypnotic, "If we have only a week before you go away then you must forget it, for our happiness. Be with me"_  
><em>

_If I lay here  
>If I just lay here<br>Would you lie with me and just forget the world?_

_I don't quite know  
>How to say<br>How I feel_

_Those three words_  
><em>Are said too much<em>  
><em>They're not enough<em>

George nodded slowly, "Alright. Alright, Bess, I understand. I shall say no more. I will not be angry"

"That's right" said Elizabeth softly, stroking his cheek lightly with the tips of her fingers, "We can survive three months, you and me. We're strong" as she said this, tears prickled the back of her eyes. She fought them away.

"You're right" George summoned a smile, "Words aren't capable of describing how much I love you"

"I know. I've spent all these years trying to find words that are enough. And I can't" Elizabeth shrugged, "But then again, I'm not a poet. Tom Wyatt could probably find the words"

"Not even Tom Wyatt could manipulate the English language enough to be able to say how I feel about you"

Elizabeth giggled, "Maybe not"

_If I lay here_  
><em>If I just lay here<em>  
><em>Would you lie with me and just forget the world?<em>

_Forget what we're told_  
><em>Before we get too old<em>  
><em>Show me a garden that's bursting into life<em>

_Let's waste time_  
><em>Chasing cars<em>  
><em>Around our heads<em>

"You'll stay with me tonight? After the dancing?" Elizabeth asked, beseechingly. George nodded.

"Of course. Anne did want to see me, but I don't want to see her. I shall only end up shouting at her and causing a scandal"

"And she'd be most upset" Elizabeth added, "But you'll stay with me all night? We can just lay there. Lay there and talk and forget about Anne and court and France and other people. Just us. Yes?"

"You mean break the rules?" George half-laughed, bestowing a glowing grin on his flame-haired beauty. She traced his lips with her forefinger.

"Yes. Before we're parted. Before we get too old to break the rules. Let's be young and joyful and beautiful while we can"

_I need your grace_  
><em>To remind me<em>  
><em>To find my own<em>

_If I lay here_  
><em>If I just lay here<em>  
><em>Would you lie with me and just forget the world?<em>

_Forget what we're told_  
><em>Before we get too old<em>  
><em>Show me a garden that's bursting into life<em>

Elizabeth rose from her knees and moved away from him. She brushed the remaining powder from her gown and smiled at George over her shoulder; she could see him watching her in the mirror.

"How do you manage to do everything so elegantly?" George asked, amused and slightly frustrated, "I can't do anything elegantly"

"You don't need to be elegant, darling, you're a man" Elizabeth retorted teasingly, fondly. She tidied herself in the mirror then moved back to George, perching herself on his knee, "Do you really think you'll be away for as long as three months?"

"I thought we weren't going to talk about it" George responded sternly. Elizabeth laughed and nodded.

"Very well, you're right. I've stopped you going on about it, and now I've started myself! Oh, but you mustn't be angry with Anne, my love. She didn't mean to upset you, I'm sure of it"

"But she has upset me" George mumbled sourly, toying with a curl of Elizabeth's hair, "And she has upset you. You hide it, but I know you"

"Silly me, I should never have mentioned it again. Forget it, my darling George. Forget it, please, won't you? We shall not think about it until the morning of your departure. We're going to grow old together, you and me, my love, and a few months apart will make no difference to the rest of our lives"

_All that I am_  
><em>All that I ever was<em>  
><em>Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see<em>

_I don't know where_  
><em>Confused about how as well<em>  
><em>Just know that these things will never change for us at all<em>

"You mean we're going to be like this forever?" George replied, amused once more. Elizabeth eyes were gazing prettily into his; summer-sky-blue orbs, glittering with vibrancy, framed with fair, barely visible lashes, the pupils large and raven-black, smooth and shining.

"Why, yes" Elizabeth's eyes, which he was still focusing on, widened in mild surprise, "Of course we will. Unless one of us decides otherwise, of course, and that will never happen. We'll grow old in the country, surrounded by our...children"

A shadow of fear crossed her face; George knew full well that she wanted a large family, but they had not conceived another since her miscarriage, and it scared her. It scared him too. But he knew that one day they would, indeed, grow old together, maybe old enough to see the son that Anne would soon have seated on the throne, with their children serving him at court.

"Yes" he agreed firmly, "Surrounded by our children. Pretty, frivolous girls who all look like you and strong, handsome, intelligent sons who look like me"

Elizabeth smiled at the picture, "Yes. Oh yes. You must stay with me, tonight, George. You promise?"

"Not just tonight" George contested, smiling, "Forever"

_If I lay here  
>If I just lay here<br>Would you lie with me and just forget the world?_


	22. Ghost of a Rose

**A/N: By Lady Eleanor Boleyn. Kitty Howard/Francis Dereham to Ghost of a Rose by Blackmore's Night. Please review!**

**The valley green was so serene  
>In the middle ran a stream so blue...<br>A maiden fair, in despair, once had met her true love there and she told him...**

Katherine Howard, known to many of her friends as Kitty, curtsied and hurried out of her Grandmother's study the moment she was allowed to. She had a grin splitting her face from ear to ear and, when the other girls in the household commented on it, she shrieked "I'm going to Court! I'm going to Court! I'm going to be a Maid of Honour to her Majesty!"

Twirling away down the corridor, she laughed out loud at the thought of the envy on the other girls' faces.

However, it was a forced laugh and, the moment she was alone, the grin vanished from her face as though it had been torn away. Picking up her skirts, she ran in search of the one person she would really miss from Lambeth.

Her beloved Francis Dereham.

She found him by the stables, talking to a number of the other pages and secretaries, but a touch to his sleeve soon pulled him away from them. He drew her back behind the barn and kissed her, alarmed when she didn't smile into his kisses as she always had before.

"Kathy? Kathy, darling, what is it?" Pulling away, Francis cupped his precious Kathy's chin in his hand, tilting her head up so that she was looking him in the eye.

Biting her lip, she glanced away. "I need to tell you something. Something that changes everything."

A weight lifted from Francis's shoulders as she spoke. She was almost making it easy for him.

"So do I, Kathy, to be honest. Come on; let's go down to the stream. We'll talk there."

**She would say...  
>"Promise me , when you see, a white rose you'll think of me<br>I love you so,  
>Never let go,<br>I will be your ghost of a rose..."**

The two of them strolled along the bank of the stream until they reached their tree; the tree under which they had kissed for the first time. It was there that Francis sank down to the ground, pulling Kitty with him. They sat, his arm around her waist, until, unable to bear the uncomfortable silence any longer, Kitty blurted her news out first.

"My Grandmother's sending me to Court! I'm to be a maid to Her Majesty Queen Anne when she comes from Cleves!"

"Then why aren't you happy? It's what you always wanted, isn't it? A place at Court?"

"Not if it means I have to leave you! Francis, I love you! I've only ever loved you! I'll miss you so much!" Suddenly, she threw herself against him, eyes wide and glistening with tears.

"Well…actually…Kathy, it's probably a good thing that you're going to Court…because…" The time had come. He was leaving in a fortnight. It was time to tell her.

"What?" Alert to the hesitation in his voice, Kitty sat up abruptly. "Francis, what's going on? Tell me! Tell me!"

"Your Grandmother is also sending me away. She wants me to go to Ireland. Administer the family lands there. Act as a steward of sorts. So I wouldn't be here anyway, even if you weren't going to Court."

At first, Francis wasn't sure if Kathy had understood what he'd said to her, but then she looked at him with such pain in her eyes that it almost broke his heart.

"So you're leaving? Leaving Lambeth? Leaving the country? Leaving me? You can't! You can't! I love you, Francis! I love you more than you will ever know. You can't just leave!"

Crying, she leaped up as though she would run from him, but when he followed and took her back into his arms, she clung to him as though she would never let him go.

"I have to. You know that, Kathy. But that doesn't mean we can't think of each other. You're my rose, my Tudor Rose. I'll always think of you. Always."

**Her eyes believed in mysteries  
>She would lay amongst the leaves of amber<br>Her spirit wild, heart of a child, yet gentle still and quiet and mild and he loved her...**

"Promise? Will you think of me every day? Every day as long as you live?"

She drew back from him and lay back on the dewy grass, the early morning sunshine peeping through the leaves on the tree above her and turning her luxurious chestnut hair the most delicious shade of amber. Looking down on her, Francis realised what a child she still was. She still loved and hated as passionately as a child. She still needed the reassurance of a child. She still believed in the mysteries of true love, just as a child did.

But she was _his_child. His wildly innocent child. His Kathy. And, though he had never thought it possible, he loved her. Loved her almost more than life itself. If reassurance was what she needed, then he would give it to her.

Kneeling down and leaning over her to find her beautiful rosebud mouth with his, he whispered "Every day, Kathy. And every single time I see a rose. I promise."

Her answer was little more than a thread of sound, reaching his ears like the sweetest of music.

"Good. That means I'll be your ghost of a rose. And you'll be mine. Always."

"Always." he repeated, twining her hair around his hands and caressing it as he pressed his lips to hers, then rained passionate kisses down all over her face and hands, inhaling her scent for the last time.

**When she would say...  
>"Promise me , when you see, a white rose you'll think of me<br>I love you so,  
>Never let go,<br>I will be your ghost of a rose..."**

When all was done, she turned to run  
>Dancing to the setting sun as he watched her<p>

At last, she sat up and pushed him away from her. "I'll have to go. People will be looking for me, Francis."

"Kathy…"he started, but she shook her head.

"Don't make this any harder than it already is. Please. Just remember your promise. I'm to be your ghost of a rose."

"Forever." he swore and she leaned in and brushed her lips against his in a final ghost of a caressing kiss before she rose and turned to run back to the house.

He watched her out of sight and a wave of anger suddenly overcame him as she vanished.

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it all to Hell!"

Picking up broken branches, he flung them wildly in all directions, giving vent to his frustrations in the only way he could; with violence and curses.

**And ever more he thought he saw  
>A glimpse of her upon the moors forever<br>He'd hear her say...**

Three months later, Francis was staring vacantly out of the window of an Irish manor house when, for one brief second, he thought he saw her in the gardens below. It was her hair, her figure, her lithe movements.

He almost ran down from the room to join her, but then the girl, who had been picking flowers, turned. It wasn't Katherine. It wasn't his Kathy at all. It was just a girl who looked like her. A girl who had been picking roses for the dining table that evening. White roses.

It wasn't Katherine and all he, Francis, was left with were the memories. The memories of the halcyon days he had spent with her, his golden ghost of a rose.

**"Promise me , when you see, a white rose you'll think of me  
>I love you so,<br>Never let go,  
>I will be your ghost of a rose..."<strong>


	23. The Rising Sun

_AN:By Lady Eleanor Boleyn Henry Brandon/Eleanor Boleyn to John Donne's poem "The Sun Rising" Henry finds out that his wife is pregnant again. Set April 1538._

**BUSY old fool, unruly Sun,  
>Why dost thou thus,<br>Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?  
>Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run? <strong>

I rolled over, blinking sleepily, as the first rays of sunlight crept into our rooms through the curtains. With a groan, I made to force myself out of bed. I was due to ride out to see to the estates this morning. I couldn't afford to delay.

Yet, as I looked back at my still sleeping wife, I felt a stab of regret that I should leave her so early. With her fair skin and gorgeous golden hair, she was still every bit as much my Duchess of the Summer Sun as she had been the day we wed. Seven, nearly eight years, and four pregnancies within that space of time, hadn't changed her at all.

I leaned down to kiss her as she slept and, as though she could feel my eyes on her, she stirred and woke.

**Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide  
>Late school-boys and sour prentices,<br>Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,  
>Call country ants to harvest offices;<br>Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,  
>Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.<strong>

"Henry? What are you doing up? It's barely dawn."

Her voice was sweet and melodious as she reached out a hand to me. Caressing her fingers, I pulled back from the warmth of her embrace, hating myself for having to refuse it.

"I can't, Eleanor. I have to ride out to see the fields."

"At this hour? Anyone would think that you're as impatient as the King."

At her unconscious mention of King Henry, her face clouded over. As well it might. His Majesty had put her sister, his Queen Anne, not to mention her brother, Lord Rochford, to death on false charges two springs earlier. In so doing, he had nearly destroyed my marriage as well as his own, for, immersed in her own grief, Eleanor had withdrawn from me for well over a year. She had almost gone mad with mourning. She had almost gone mad and I hadn't known what to do.

I reached for her, but she slipped from my grasp, going to the window and standing with her back to it, so that the early rays of morning light danced in her curls, playing with them. Playing with the by now familiar throbs of my desire.

"Get back to bed, you vixen, or I'll never be able to leave you," I teased, putting my arms around her waist. She laid her hand on my chest, tracing my heartbeat with her touch.

I knew I should leave, but, God help me, I couldn't take my eyes off her. She completely bewitched me. And then she spoke.

"If you must go, at least take my news with you. Maybe you'll hurry back to me that way."

"What? What news? What news, my darling?"

Taking my hand, Eleanor drew me even closer to her than before and, putting her mouth to my ear, breathed, "I'm with child again, Henry. I'm carrying another of your children."

**Thy beams so reverend, and strong  
>Why shouldst thou think?<br>I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,  
>But that I would not lose her sight so long.<br>If her eyes have not blinded thine,  
>Look, and to-morrow late tell me,<br>Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine  
>Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me.<br>Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,  
>And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed lay."<strong>

I honestly thought my world had stopped. Stopped for joy. All I could do was stare into her beautiful blue could have told me then, in that instant, that I was King of England; ruler of the greatest Empire in the world, and I truly wouldn't have I could do – all I _wanted_ to do – was stare into those sapphire orbs that were like hooks for my soul as I stuttered, "Are – are you – are you sure?"

At her nod, all thoughts of riding out that morning vanished from my head instantly.

"If it's a girl, we'll call her Eleanor, for her mother," I promised, stopping any protests Eleanor may have had by kissing her fiercely and drawing her back to the bed.

Her eyes flashed, but she let it slide as she rearranged herself beneath the bedcovers.

"And if it's a boy? If it's an Honourable rather than a Lady?" she murmured, stretching out her arms to hold me as I slid back in beside her. "What will we call him then?"

"I don't know. I had thought of calling him George, but since you stole that name for our first boy…Edward, perhaps?"

"After that Seymour whelp's brat? I don't think so." Eleanor's gaze snapped anger and I laid my hand on her cheek to calm her.

"Peace, sweetheart. We won't call him Edward if it displeases you so."

"Henry, for his father?" she suggested sleepily. I shook my head. "People would think you were naming him for the King."

Eleanor's nose wrinkled and I brushed it lightly with my lips as I thought back through all the family history I'd ever been taught. "What about William, for my grandfather?" I asked at last. "He fell carrying the Tudor banner at Bosworth."

"And it's the name of the Conqueror," she added, effectively removing any links to the Tudors from the name. "William Brandon. I like it. The Honourable William Brandon. The Honourable William Henry Brandon. I like it."

Her voice was little more than a drowsy whisper. I kissed her.

"Good. I'm glad. It really is the most wonderful news," I answered, mentally making a note of my favourite middle name for a daughter – Mary or Cecily – as I kissed my wife again, more deeply this time. I felt desire stir within my loins and began to act upon the impulse.

As she felt me enter her, however, she stirred, offering a token cry of protest.

"Henry, no! We mustn't. The child -"

"I'll be very gentle, love, I promise, "I assured her, delighting in the way she fell back instantly, the very picture of compliance.

**She's all states, and all princes I;  
>Nothing else is;<br>Princes do but play us; compared to this,  
>All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.<br>Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we,  
>In that the world's contracted thus;<br>Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be  
>To warm the world, that's done in warming us.<br>Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;  
>This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere<strong>.

Desire sated, I fell back into sleep, only waking when the children came running in an hour or two later.

"Papa! I thought you were riding out!" Margaret exclaimed. With a glance at Eleanor, who still lay sleeping, I hushed our eldest, helping her up on to the bed.

"I was, but Mama persuaded me otherwise. We'll have some news for you when she wakes up," I explained, lifting little Annie on to the bed next and letting her curl up next to her mother.

George insisted that, at four, he was old enough to climb up by himself, so I left him to it and helped my niece, the former Princess, now Lady Elizabeth, up on to the bed instead. As soon as she was up, she, like Annie before her, tried to burrow as close to Eleanor as possible.

"Poor Papa. No one wants to lie next to him. Well, I will, so he doesn't get lonely," Margaret announced grandly to the room at large, proceeding to do exactly that.

The warmth of her little body against mine and her little arms around my neck was exactly what I needed to make my cup of happiness overflow. Holding her close, I stroked her hair.

"Good morning, jewel," I murmured, feeling as though I, not the King, was truly "Great Harry". Feeling as though I was King of the world.


	24. The Scientist

_AN: Lady Eleanor posted this, but thought I'd include it here anyway. Henry Percy Anne Boleyn to Coldplay's "The Scientist"_

_**May 1523**_

_**Come up to meet you,**_

_**Tell you I'm sorry**_

_**You don't know how lovely you are**_

"Mistress Anne! Wait! Mistress Anne!" Henry Percy, future Earl of Northumberland, ran after Anne as she walked straight past him without so much as wishing him a good day, or even seeming to recognise him at all. He caught up to her as she turned the corner into the passage that led to the Queen's rooms and caught her arm. She stopped, but as she turned to him, her eyes weren't light and smiling as they used to be. They were dark and sorrowful. He would have sworn that they were red rimmed, but his Anne never cried. Never.

"Please, Mistress Anne. Won't you smile on me as y0u used to?" he begged. Anne pulled away, and her eyes were burning.

"Why? Tell me why I should smile on y0u, Lord Percy? Give me one good reason."

"Because I love you!" Henry cried, stunned that she should even ask such a thing. Anne shook her head.

"No, Lord Percy. You don't love me. Y0u think you love me, but you don't."

"I swore to marry you!" he exclaimed.

"And wilted beneath the Cardinal! If you loved me, really loved me as much as you claim to, you wouldn't have listened to him. Y0u'd have married me anyway!"

"Defied the Cardinal? Are you mad, Mistress Anne? He's the mightiest man in England!

"That doesn't matter! You'd still have done it!" she hissed, her eyes suddenly aflame with passion. "As it is, I'm being banished to Hever with immediate effect, and it's all your fault!"

With that, she spun on her heel and fled. Henry watched her go. Did she realise how bewitchingly beautiful she was when she was angry? No wonder he'd been enchanted by her months ago.

_**I had to find you,**_

_**Tell you I need you,**_

_**Tell y0u **_**I'll set you apart**

**Two weeks earlier...**

Henry waited impatiently for the barge to draw up outside Whitehall Palace. Cardinal Wolsey heaved himself out and then strode up the path to the great golden doors. Henry hurried after him and then, as soon as he was sure he wouldn't be missed, fled in the opposite direction, towards the Queen's rooms.

He bowed as he entered, but it wasn't Queen Katherine he'd come to see. It was the dark eyed beauty quietly sewing by the window. Queen Katherine understood, and didn't keep him long. She waved him away after only the briefest of bows and then he was free. Free to hurry over to Mistress Anne, his sweetheart.

"Mistress Anne." He sank down beside her. She lifted her head and smiled brilliantly. "Lord Percy."

"I have something I want to ask you. Can we not go somewhere we can be alone?"

Anne shook her head. "I can't leave the Queen's rooms without her permission. Particularly not with a gentleman such as y0urself." She saw the disappointment in his eyes – God knows, she was good at that – and softened. "But draw the curtain and we can talk in private."

He did so and then turned back to her, capturing her lips in his for a brief kiss. She yielded, as she always did once they were alone and out of sight of prying eyes.

"Anne!" He sighed her name into the kiss, and she chuckled. "Henry. What was it y0u wanted to ask me?"

"I can't remember." He teased.

"Well, do try. We won't have long like this." Anne replied, an edge to her otherwise musical voice. Henry groaned.

"This is torture. I wish we didn't have to be apart, Anne. You're the only one I've ever wanted. The only one I could ever imagine wanting. I wish we could have an eternity together, and not just stolen moments."

"Oh, Henry. So do I. So do I." Anne murmured, her gorgeous dark eyes flickering shut as she spoke.

"Then marry me!" Henry spoke the words without thinking of the consequences. Anne's eyes snapped open.

"What? Henry -"

Henry cut off, a flood of words suddenly occurring to him.

"I've wanted to ask you for ages, but the time never seemed right. But now I am asking. I haven't got a ring for y0u, or even a speech, but I love you. Y0u're the only one I can think about. Anne Boleyn, my mademoiselle, will y0u please, please marry me?"

_**Tell me your secrets and ask me your questions,**_

_**Oh let's go back to the start**_

"Yes." Henry could hardly believe his luck when Anne smiled and nodded.

"What?"

"Yes." Anne repeated. "I said yes, Henry. I will marry you. I will be y0ur Countess of Northumberland. I'd love to. Why, I'd rather be Harry's Countess than King Henry's Queen, even."

"Oh Anne!" Henry couldn't help himself. He caught her in his arms and hugged her hard.

He could hardly bear to let go of her, but when he finally did, they stayed there in that window seat, talking and laughing, for what seemed like forever. It was as though, now that they had sworn to marry, they wanted to get to know one another all over again.

_**Running in circles,**_

_**Coming in tails**_

_**Heads on a science apart**_

It hadn't always been that easy. The first time they'd met, in December 1522, it had been at a ball, and they'd both been wearing masks. Henry, thinking he was dancing with his betrothed, Mary Talbot, who he did not like at all, had snapped "Don't think you'll ever get your hands on the Percy fortune, Mistress Talbot."

Anne, bless her, had been completely gracious, and merely answered "But I do not think it, my Lord." before dipping down into a curtsy and taking off her mask as everyone else did the same. Her dark raven hair had begun to escape the confines of her hood because of the exercise and was framing her pale face as Henry helped her up and brushed her hand with his lips. His stomach flipped over and he found he was breathless as he spoke. "Forgive me, Mistress. I did not realise that you were not the person that I thought you were. My fervent apologies. I am Lord Henry Percy. If I might actually ask; who are you?"

"I'm the daughter of the Ambassador Thomas Boleyn." She replied crisply, trying to pull her hand away.

"But your Christian name, Mistress? For pity's sake, tell me your name."

"It's Anne. Anne Boleyn. Now, My Lord, if you'll let me go?" Anne retorted, and Henry nodded. "Of course, Mistress Anne. Forgive me."

He let her go and she strode away without a backward glance, her cream and gold skirts swishing.

_**Nobody said it was easy**_

_**It's such a shame for us to part**_

He'd offended her then, but at least he'd been able to redeem himself. He'd been able to win her heart despite his first blunder. Now it was too late. Now, Cardinal Wolsey had separated them and there was nothing he could do to win her back. Even though he loved her; would love her until he died. He longed to call after her, but he knew it was useless. Once Anne blamed someone and vowed revenge, she never forgave them. She'd never forgive him for not standing up to Wolsey and his father. As he watched her go, something his elder sister Margaret had said to him once flashed into his head "Love isn't easy, Harry. If it's easy, then it's not real. You'd do better to let someone go if you find loving them too easy."

How right she was. Love wasn't easy. But neither was letting someone go, even if it was the right thing to do. Anne was gone, vanished round the corner and it honestly felt as though she had taken part of his heart with her.

_**Nobody said it was easy**_

_**No one said it would be this hard**_

_**Oh take me back to the start**_

Was love really meant to be this hard? Even though Margaret had said so, he found it very hard to believe. All he could think about was his first meeting with Anne, and how he wished it had gone differently. Maybe if that had gone differently, the rest of their relationship would have gone differently too. Maybe they would have fallen in love sooner; married before Wolsey found out and tore them apart.

Henry closed his eyes, and he was back there, back at the masque where he met Anne for the very first time. He watched himself dance with her, heard her voice ringing in his ears, cringed as he himself offended her.

"_Don't think you'll ever get your hands on the Percy fortune, Mistress Talbot."_

"_But I do not think it, my Lord."_

"_Forgive me, Mistress. I did not realise that you were not the person that I thought you were. My fervent apologies. I am Lord Henry Percy. If I might actually ask; who are you?" "I'm the daughter of the Ambassador Thomas Boleyn." _

"_But your Christian name, Mistress? For pity's sake, tell me your name."_

"_It's Anne. Anne Boleyn. Now, My Lord, if you'll let me go?" "Of course, Mistress Anne. Forgive me."_

_**I was just guessing at numbers and figures**_

_**Pulling the puzzles apart**_

_**Questions of science, science and progress**_

_**Do not speak as loud as my heart**_

Anne had kept herself aloof from Henry after that, an action for which he could scarcely blame her. He'd treated her dreadfully at the masque. He used to lie awake at night, unable to sleep for thinking of her and wondering how he best stood a chance of winning her for his own. In the end, he had decided the best thing to do was to seduce her. Court her with all the gallantry of a Knight of the Round Table.

He had secretly watched her from a distance, noting which colours she liked to wear, which jewels suited her dark hair and creamy complexion best. At last, he had had it. He had commissioned the jewellers to make a brooch for her to wear in her hair. It was a bird made of rose gold with outstretched wings and set with both rubies and pearls. He had gone to Queen Katherine's rooms and begged Anne to accept his apologies for the way he had treated her on their first meeting. He had told her that he hadn't been able to sleep for thinking of her, that he desired her more than he had ever desired anyone before in his life and then he had handed her the box containing the brooch.

She had opened it and stared down at the contents, unable to believe what she was seeing. Then she had looked up at him and murmured "You had this made for me, Lord Percy?"

"Yes. For you, Mistress Anne. As - as a token of - of my grounded – grounded affection. Of my love." He had stumbled over his words, but it hadn't mattered. Her dark eyes had been shining as she lifted them to his. A thousand emotions had crossed her young face and she had murmured "So you love me! And there I was, thinking – oh, never mind!" She had flung herself at him then, throwing her arms around his neck. "Thank you! Thank you so much, Lord Percy."

"Henry, please. Mistress Anne, it must be Henry." He had answered firmly, trying to hide the delight he was feeling at holding her in his arms.

Impulsively, he had tipped her head back and found her mouth with his. Instantly, she pulled away. "I can't! Henry, I can't!"

"Why not? If you love me and I love you, why not?" he had protested, before she began to explain. "I'm a maid of good birth, Henry. I can't allow my reputation to be ruined. Showing emotion over your gift was dangerous enough. Kissing you here would be even worse. You know what this Court's like for gossip. If your father and Wolsey found out…"

"What do they matter? They're just old men, old men who cling to traditional values. Let them shake their heads if they want, Anne. We are England's future, not them. We are England's future, and we are in love. I swear to you, nothing means more to me than you. You could tell me I would be King tomorrow, and I wouldn't care, not if I couldn't take you as my Queen!"

Henry had stood by his words as well. As King Henry and his favoured councillors began to plan the annual summer progress, he hadn't taken part in the discussions, even though, as the Earl of Northumberland's heir and representative at Court, he ought to have done. The summer progress meant nothing to him. Let them go to Bradgate if they wanted. Let them go to Hanworth. Let them go to Tattershall. He didn't care. As long as Anne came along as one of Queen Katherine's attendants, he didn't care where they went. Questions like that; questions that concerned day to day life paled in comparison to the revelations that were taking place in his heart.

_**Tell me you love me**_

_**Come back and haunt me**_

_**Oh and I rush to the start**_

And now it was gone. All the smiles, all the dances, all the whispered conversations beneath the stars. It was all gone. All of it. Anne was banished, sent home to Hever in disgrace, and his own punishment couldn't be far behind. He lived in fear of what it would be.

In the meantime, however, Anne was the only person on his mind, the only one he could think about. Every night, she haunted him. She appeared to him in his dreams, calling to him in that low musical voice of hers. "Henry. Henry. My Henry. Come to me, my Henry. Come to me and love me. Love me like I love you. I'll stand by our promise to each other. Just come to me and support me."

Every time, he would try to run towards her, shouting her name "Anne! Anne!" but it was like running through treacle. His legs scarcely obeyed him and, by the time he reached her, her eyes, her beautiful dark eyes, would be cold and hard with resentment, pain and forced indifference. "It's too late." She would say, pulling back from his outstretched hand. "It's too late. You didn't come to my aid when I needed you most. It's too late, My Lord. I'm sorry, but it's too late."

Then she would fade away with one last seductive smile - just enough to wrench at his heartstrings – and he would wake, breathing hard. He knew he would never be free of her; not unless there was a way to go back in time and manage to win her for his wife, and keep her this time.

_**Running in circles**_

_**Chasing our tails**_

_**Coming back as we are**_

But that was impossible. Much as he would love to be able to do that, it was impossible. No, all that Anne and he would ever be able to have were the memories of one beautiful spring and the unrealised possibilities of their future together. If they ever met again at Court, they would simply have to be "Lord Percy" and "Mistress Boleyn" to each other. The days of being on first name terms were well and truly over. They would have to dance around each other like a pair of graceful dancers in a masque or an intricate dance. They would have to stay at arm's length, no matter how much it hurt. If only their families had agreed to the match. If only he'd had the courage to do as Anne wanted and defy Wolsey. If only he hadn't offended her more than once. Then she might have forgiven him, might have believed that he loved her more than anyone else in the world and always would. Now, however, it was too late. She wouldn't; would never trust him again. He would just rue that first error all his life until the day he died.

_**Nobody said it was easy**_

_**Oh, it's such a shame for us to part **_

_**Nobody said it was easy**_

_**No one said it would be so hard**_

_**I'm going back to the start**_

_Don't think you'll ever get your hands on the Percy fortune, Mistress Talbot."_

"_But I do not think it, my Lord."_

"_Forgive me, Mistress. I did not realise that you were not the person that I thought you were. My fervent apologies. I am Lord Henry Percy. If I might actually ask; who are you?" "I'm the daughter of the Ambassador Thomas Boleyn." _

"_But your Christian name, Mistress? For pity's sake, tell me your name."_

"_It's Anne. Anne Boleyn. Now, My Lord, if you'll let me go?" "Of course, Mistress Anne. Forgive me."_

In the privacy of his apartments, Henry Percy sank down against the wall and wept as though his heart was breaking, because his heart was breaking. He had lost the only girl he had ever truly loved and his heart was breaking.

"Forgive me, Anne. Forgive me." He cried, but it was too late. She would never even hear him, let alone forgive him. It was too late. Far too late. He could never start again, not with her. Anne Boleyn hardly ever gave second chances, let alone third ones. He had bungled their relationship twice and now he had to live with the consequences. He would never have her for his own, however much he wanted her.


	25. Baby, It's Cold Outside

**A/N: Hey, it's Greenfield here! I apologise in advance, I'm feeling very festive. And I'm cold. Another George and Elizabeth, set in 1522, before they got together and just decided to flirt like maniacs! Please review! Song is 'Baby, It's Cold Outside'**.

Elizabeth put down her goblet of wine and looked up at the gilded clock that sat on the oaken cabinet in George's room. It was most improper for her to be with him, alone, in his rooms, but she was so desperate for him to confess to his feelings that she quite honestly had given up caring. But then, when had she and George ever been bothered about propriety. She folded her hand of cards and threw him a glowing smile.

"_I really can't stay_" she said regretfully, rising from her seat. She looked out of the small window wearily. She would have to go outside and walk across the courtyard to get to the part of the palace that she and Elena were inhabiting, and there was a thick blanket of snow in the ground – plus, the air was like ice. She shivered at the thought.

"_But baby it's cold outside_" George responded incredulously, sensing that she didn't want to leave. He didn't want her to leave, either. He'd been enjoying himself, revelling in her delightful company, and she knew it.

"_I've got to go away_" she said, a little doubtfully. A fresh few flakes of snow had been to tumble from the dark sky. And it was terribly late. She drew her cloak around her and hugged herself with her slender arms.

"_Baby it's cold outside_" George repeated, rising from his seat.

"_This evening has been_ – "she began, before being cut off by a now rather panicked looking George. She mustn't leave; he'd had plans for tonight!

"_Been hoping that you'd drop in_" he confessed in a slight rush.

_"- So very nice_" she continued, a little smug smile on her lips.

"_I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice!" _he cried, clasping her small, delicate hands between his, strong and warm. She shivered, this time not from cold.

"_My mother will start to worry_" she replied fearfully, thinking of the scolding she would receive if her mother ever found out that she had spent hours alone in a man's bedchamber.

"_Beautiful, what's your hurry?"_ George asked innocently, still rubbing her chilled hands.

_"My father will be pacing the floor"_ she added, already picturing her father marching purposefully up and down, glaring at her when he found out. If he found out.

"_Listen to the fireplace roar_" George pointed out encouragingly. The fire was deliciously warm and let off a pungent perfume that both smelt delicious and made Elizabeth feel a little reckless. The crackle was comforting and soft in the background of their speech.

"_So really I'd better scurry_" her voice had a little less conviction every time she opened her mouth.

"_Beautiful, please don't hurry_" Great, he was reduced to begging now. He hadn't meant to do that.

"_Well maybe just a half a drink more_" she relented, looking longingly at the flagon of hot spiced wine, quite a lot of which was remaining.

"_Put some music on while I pour_?" George offered, wondering if there would be any musicians around with a lute at this time of night. She shook her head, those fiery red curls swinging desirably.

"_The neighbours might think_" she continued worriedly, thinking of the Parker girl who slept in a room very close to her and Elena. She was bound to catch Elizabeth sneaking back at this late hour, and it wouldn't take a genius to figure out who she had been with.

"_Baby, it's bad out there_" to George's relief, he was telling the truth; the snow was getting heavier.

"_Say, what's in this drink_?" Elizabeth asked, eyes watering slightly with the extra spices George had just added to the wine that was now warming her body from head to toe.

"_No cabs to be had out there_" George added, knowing that no-one would be willing to drive a carriage across the courtyard in this weather and at this hour, not even to keep a pretty lady from getting snowed under.

"_I wish I knew how_ – " she murmured softly, before being cut off again.

"_Your eyes are like starlight_" George blurted out, looking into her sparkling blue eyes. She laughed, a light tinkle of a laugh, and continued softly.

"-_To break the spell_"

"_I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell_" George offered, and, being much more forward, leaned over and removed her coif, letting the curls of hair that had been slowly spilling out over the past few hours completely free. Elizabeth blushed at his audacity and pulled uselessly at her hair, but he had put the coif to one side, grinning amiably.

"_I ought to say no, no, no, sir"_ Elizabeth sighed weakly, wagging a finger at him. George laughed aloud, gaining a little boldness.

"_Mind if I move in closer_?" he asked gently, and took a step closer to her. They were rather close now; she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"_At least I'm gonna say that I tried –_"she said feebly.

"_What's the sense in hurting my pride_?" George shrugged, eyes twinkling merrily at her.

"_I really can't stay"_ she whined, dithering still.

"_Baby don't hold out"_ George murmured, reaching out to take her hand again and massaging her smooth palm, eliciting another blush from her.

"_Ah, but it's cold outside_" she frowned, watching frost creep up the window. Then,

"_I simply must go_" she decided, squaring her shoulders and taking a step back from him. He retaliated by taking a step closer.

"_Baby, it's cold outside_" George repeated his mantra with feeling, and reached out to put his hands either side of her waist. She looked at him sternly.

"_The answer is __**no**_" she said firmly, removing his hands with a teasing smile.

"_Ooh darling, it's cold outside"_ he cautioned again, slightly abashed that she had brushed him off. But he could see the desire in her eyes. If he could only persuade her to stay a while longer...

"_This welcome has been_ – "

"_I'm lucky that you dropped in_" he intervened sincerely.

"_-So nice and warm"_ she continued sharply.

"_Look out the window at that storm!"_ he cried, pointing to the angry, swirling snowflakes.

"_My sister will be suspicious_" she dithered, thinking of Elena, who would be surely waiting up.

"_Man, your lips look delicious_" George breathed, eyes fixed on the plump red lips that he upper teeth were tugging on thoughtfully.

"_My brother will be there at the door"_ she continued, ignoring him, thinking of Thomas Wyatt, who might be worried if Elena told him that she still hadn't returned. They were very close, she and Tom.

"_Waves upon a tropical shore_" George continued musingly, thinking of the blissful existence that they could share. His eyes were still focused on her pretty mouth.

"_My maiden aunt's mind is vicious_" Elizabeth fretted, thinking of Elena's crabby mother, a widow who was the epitome of propriety. George moved suddenly forward and pressed a hasty but firm kiss on her lips. She gasped.

"_Gosh, your lips are delicious_" he said, looking dazed. She hesitated for a very long time, knowing that she should scold him for taking liberties and sweep out of the room. But she couldn't do that! She wanted him to kiss her.

"_Well maybe just a half a drink more" _she mumbled eventually. George grinned.

"_Never such a blizzard before_" he pronounced cheerfully. Maybe she was giving him the wrong idea. She didn't want to see loose.

"_I've got to go home!"_ she cried, picking up her coif and making to turn away. He grasped her arm.

"_Oh, baby, you'll freeze out there_!" he protested pathetically.

"_Say, lend me your coat"_ she suggested, gesturing to his handsome blue cloak, draped over the back of his chair.

"_It's up to your knees out there_" he pointed out, meaning that the cloak would not help to protect the bottom half of her beautiful green gown, which would surely be ruined entirely with snow stains if she dared to step out.

"_You've really been grand_" she tried to sound polite, but all she could think about was how much she wanted to stay. He let go of her arm and, once again, she made to leave, but this time he caught her hand instead. A bolt of fire flashed through both of them.

"_I thrill when you touch my hand_" he admitted softly.

"_But don't you see –_ " she started, shocked.

"_How can you do this thing to me?"_ he cut in pleadingly. Conflict shone in her blue eyes.

"_There's bound to be talk tomorrow_" she worried. What would people see if they saw her sneaking back across the courtyard in the early morning, with her hair loose and coming from the men's quarters, in last night's dress?

"_Think of my life long sorrow_" George looked at her with puppy-dog eyes. She laughed.

"_At least there will be plenty implied_" she comforted him jokily.

" _If you caught pneumonia and died_" he retorted, eyes boring into hers.

"_I really can't stay"_ Elizabeth said, but this time, she knew that she would.

"_Get over that hold out_" he murmured, his hands encircling her waist. This time, she did not push him away. They smiled at each other.

"_Ah, but it's cold outside_" she concurred quietely.

And there were no more words.


	26. Paradise

**A/N: Hey, GreenField here. This is a songfic about Elizabeth Tudor as a child and young woman, set to Coldplay's 'Paradise'. I love Coldplay so much. Please review!**

_When she was just a girl  
>She expected the world<br>But it flew away from her reach so  
>She ran away in her sleep<br>and dreamed of  
>Para-para-paradise, Para-para-paradise, Para-para-paradise<br>Every time she closed her eyes_

The Princess Elizabeth – no, _Lady_ Elizabeth, she reminded herself – stood by the window in her white nightgown, gazing out upon the night sky. Her red curls flowed down her back and she wore a small jewelled bracelet around her narrow wrist. Today, her life had been changed forever. She was not quite three years old.

Her mother was dead.

Elizabeth's dark eyes filled with tears as she pictured her mother's face; she had been very pretty. They had very similar faces, she and her mother, and she hoped she would grow up to be that pretty. She heard her mother's ringing laugh in her head and, knowing that she would never hear that laugh again, she wrapped her skinny arms tightly around her body and hugged herself fiercely, rocking back and forth on her heels. A glowing bolt of lightning crashed across the black night sky, quickly followed by a terrifying rumble of thunder that seemed to shake the very flagstones that Elizabeth was standing on. She ran back to her bed and leapt into it, pulling the covers up to her chin. Her big dark eyes peered over the top of the linen sheets, filled with tears of fear and bereavement. She wanted her mother, so badly.

She closed her eyes and tried not to hear the horrific storm outside, concentrating on the image of her mother, all in white like an angel, with a crown upon her head.

_When she was just a girl  
>She expected the world<br>But it flew away from her reach  
>and the bullets catch in her teeth<br>Life goes on, it gets so heavy  
>The wheel breaks the butterfly<br>Every tear a waterfall  
>In the night the stormy night she'll close her eyes<br>In the night the stormy night away she'd fly_

_and dreams of  
>Para-para-paradise<br>Para-para-paradise  
>Para-para-paradise<em>

She dreamt that night, a dream that would become a recurrence throughout her life. She was with her mother, in a paradise that she soon realised to be the Garden of Eden. Trees grew rich, luscious green leaves and emerald grass shot up to her ankles. Flowers of every colour imaginable lined pathways of golden-brown brick. Fruits and vegetables blossomed everywhere the eye could see, and each time she turned a corner Elizabeth could see strange exotic creatures; an antelope, gambolling over the grass; a lion cub playing with its father; a butterfly settling on a dew-dropped crimson rose. She was wearing a gown that she had never seen before, a very grand gown of cloth of gold, with ermine lining and sleeves. She felt something pressing down on her head and, when she lifted her hands up to investigate, she withdrew the magnificent crown of Saint Edward. With a gasp, she dropped the crown onto the springy ground, where it clattered in circles for a few moments before being picked up by a pair of pale, elegant hands with tapered fingers._  
><em>

She recognised those hands.

And, sure enough, when she looked up, her mother stood before her, in the yellow gown that Elizabeth had seen her in last, her dark eyes sparkling, her hair loose and raven-black. Uncle George stood a little way behind her, seemingly deep in thought, gazing down into a singing, rippling lake. Neither of them showed any signs of the gruesome fate that had befallen them; in fact, they looked even more beautiful than Elizabeth remembered, and quite at peace.

"Mama?" she whispered, her little face bright. She flew herself into her mother's arms and felt those arms wrap around her in a warm, perfumed embrace that she did not ever want to break. But Anne did break the embrace, and crouched down to look her daughter in the eyes. She held the crown balanced on her palm.

"Do not reject the crown, Elizabeth" she said softly, "Do not refuse the power and influence that you could wield so well"

Elizabeth looked, wild-eyed, at her mother, "But Mama – "

"No buts" Anne put her finger to her daughter's lips, then raised the crown and placed it back on top of the blazing red hair. Elizabeth staggered a little under the weight, but Anne grasped the child's small hands and held her still.

"One day, my darling Beth, you will be a great Queen" Anne continued, her voice firm, her eyes suddenly fixed on the crown upon Elizabeth's worried little head.

"But Mama, my little brother the good Prince Edward is to be King" Elizabeth replied, in a phrase that she had heard many times. Anne shook her head.

"No, my dear. Edward will still be King, and your sister Mary too, but when that is over, you will be Queen"

_Oh oh oh oh oh oh-oh-oh  
>She'd dream of<br>Para-para-paradise  
>Para-para-paradise<br>Para-para-paradise  
>Oh oh oh oh oh oh-oh-oh-oh <em>

Elizabeth's lips trembled for a few moments, for she knew that for her to be Queen her Papa, brother and sister would have to die. Then she squared her little shoulders, looked in her mother's eyes, and nodded.

"Yes, Mama"

"Good girl" Anne kissed her daughter with tears in her eyes, and moved away in a cloud of French perfume, disappearing with her brother into the gardens of paradise.

This dream entered into Elizabeth's unconsciousness every night as she slept.

_And so lying underneath those stormy skies_  
><em>She'd say, "oh, ohohohoh I know the sun must set to rise"<em>

Fourteen and a half years later, Elizabeth was seventeen years old. Her brother, Prince Edward, was on the throne, and she was living at Hatfield House with her childhood friend and playmate, Robert Dudley.

They were seated outside as the night drew in. Elizabeth was shivering in the cold and her dear Robin had put his cloak about her slender body and had his arm around her to keep off the chill, though this only sent a very different shiver down her spine. Robin was stroking her hair, an intimate gesture that she should have discouraged, but could not bear to. She had grown into the beauty of her mother and Robin had noticed, just as she had noticed his handsomeness.

They sat in companionable silence until they felt the first spots of rain and they plopped onto Elizabeth's green skirts. She gasped and leapt up from the grass.

"Oh, do let's go inside! I can't bear to be out in the rain"

Robin laughed at her, rising languidly without any hurry, thoroughly amused, "It shan't hurt you, my Lady"

"Elizabeth!" she corrected him crossly, as the rain pounded down in heavier droplets. She cried out and began to run, pulling Robin's cloak over her head to cover her elaborately styled hair and holding up her skirts with her free hand to allow to her move faster. The sky had darkened rapidly and there was a distant rumble of thunder. Robin was running along beside her, still chuckling at her horror. They were nowhere near the stately home. The sky flashed a brilliant, blinding white. Elizabeth screamed; she had never been outdoors during a storm before. Robert laughed at her again and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her under a large tree. A few drops of rain tumbled from the leaves, but otherwise they were quite dry. Elizabeth clutched her chest, panting, and looked with fearful eyes up at the sky. Robin laughed and pulled her to him.

"Don't be scared. A little fall of rain never hurt anybody"

"I don't like storms" Elizabeth retorted sharply, pouting, but her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. Thunder exploded overhead, and a slash of lighting followed. She shrank closer to Robin and felt him slide the tip of his finger under her chin, tilting her face up to look at him. She gasped, but no longer from fear. His lips neared hers and her breath caught in her throat. She had never been kissed before, he had never so much as touched her hand before.

As their lips touched, sparks flew between them. She did not notice the next roar of thunder or flash of light, or the increasing pounding of the rain. They stayed intertwined beneath the tree for a long time, until the rain cleared and the stars began to shine once again.

Elizabeth thought, in that moment, that maybe the paradise in her dream wasn't paradise after all. Maybe paradise was this, having Robin's arms around her and his lips covering hers and the stars twinkling above them.

Maybe there could be paradise on earth after all.

_This could be  
>Para-para-paradise<br>Para-para-paradise  
>Para-para-paradise<br>Oh oh oh oh oh oh-oh-oh  
>This could be<br>Para-para-paradise  
>Para-para-paradise<br>This could be  
>Para-para-paradise<br>Oh oh oh oh oh oh-oh-oh-oh_


	27. The Way I Loved You

_AN: An AU Francis I/ Henry's sister Princess Mary/Charles Brandon to The Way I Loved You by Taylor Swift. Lady Eleanor Boleyn. Please review!_

**He is sensible and so incredible  
>And all my single friends are jealous<br>He says everything I need to hear and it's like  
>I couldn't ask for anything better<strong>

**He opens up my door and I get into his car**  
><strong>And he says, you look beautiful tonight<strong>  
><strong>And I feel perfectly fine<strong>

_"Enchanté,_ Princess Marie. If I may say so, you look very beautiful this morning," King Francis bowed over Mary's hand and she curtsied as he kissed it.

"Your Majesty."

"_Ah non! Non_! Francis, please. Today of all days, call me Francis, sweet Marie."

"As you wish… Francis," Mary murmured demurely, keeping her eyes downcast.

"Come, come! You cannot truly be this demure! Your brother assured me that you had the Tudor spirit in spades! When will you show it to me?" Francis teased jovially. Mary blushed and looked away, unwilling to answer him. Thankfully, Lady Guildford sensed her discomfort and came to her rescue.

"Her Highness is merely overcome by the anticipation she feels for the ceremony that is to take place this morning, Sire," she explained, causing the King of France to laugh happily.

"Oh of course, I should have thought of that. I forgot that you were still so young. Forgive me, Marie."

"There is nothing to forgive," Mary whispered, before Lady Guildford seized her opportunity to say, "With all due respect, Sire, I still have to dress the Princess. And you ought to know that you should not be here. It is bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding."

Francis burst out laughing. "Here in France it is not, Lady Guildford, but since I am marrying an English Princess, I will honour the English customs for now."

With another bow, he lifted Mary's head to kiss her forehead, looked into her eyes, clearly saying silently "I will see you at the altar," and then he was gone.

"There. I told you, Princess. He cares for you. Is he not a kind man? Many girls would think themselves lucky to marry him." Lady Guildford said bracingly. Mary nodded absently, letting her Lady Governess unlace her gown of cherry damask and help her into her wedding gown of the lightest spring green silk.

"I know, Guildford, I know. But oh God! Would that he were Charles! Would that he were Charles!"

**But I miss screamin' and fightin'  
>And kissin' in the rain<br>And it's two a.m. and I'm cursin' your name  
>You're so in love that you act insane<br>And that's the way I loved you**

**Breakin' down and comin' undone**  
><strong>It's a roller-coaster kinda rush<strong>  
><strong>And I never knew I could feel that much<strong>  
><strong>And that's the way I loved you<strong>

Charles Brandon. Charles Brandon, the new Duke of Suffolk. Mary had grown up with him. She'd had to, sharing a palace with her brother Prince Henry. After all, Charles was Henry's closest friend and she his favourite sister. How could they have avoided each other?

And then Henry had become King and, at just thirteen, Mary had been thrown into a whirlwind of festivities and celebrations, all of which she had played a prominent part in. Charles had been there too, slightly on the sidelines, true, but always there.

Mary hadn't paid much attention to him, indeed, she'd found him slightly irritating. But then, at the Christmas masque a year ago, when she was sixteen, something had changed. He had danced with her, treated her as a young woman, rather than a girl. And she had responded. Oh God, how she had responded!

From then on, she hadn't been able to take her eyes off him. He had been her only dance partner other than her brother. They'd ridden out together whenever they could. And with every day, she had felt herself falling more and more deeply in love with him.

She had never loved anyone like she loved him. Not even her beloved brother Henry. It was like he was the North Pole to her magnet; the Sun to her Moon, the ship to her storm-tossed seas.

So Henry's decision to betroth her to the new King of France, Francis Valois, had broken Mary's heart. And ennobling Charles and asking him to escort her to her new homeland had only rubbed salt in the open wound.

**He respects my space and never makes me wait**  
><strong>And he calls exactly when he says he will<strong>  
><strong>He's close to my mother<strong>  
><strong>Talks business with my father<strong>  
><strong>He's charming and endearing, and I'm comfortable<strong>

It wasn't that Francis was unkind. In fact, he was quite the opposite. It was obvious he'd fallen for her. Mary felt quite guilty about not returning his feelings, but she simply couldn't. No matter how many times he kissed her and complimented her on her beauty; no matter how many times he tried to make her feel at ease around him; no matter how many gifts he showered upon her, Mary's heart didn't belong to him.

Not even the fact that she knew Henry was thrilled about the fact that he had managed to wrangle this betrothal; to persuade Francis to jilt the young Duchess of Brittany in favour of her, his younger sister Princess Mary, helped Mary now. Knowing she was doing her duty by England didn't make this bitter pill any easier to swallow. It didn't hide the fact that her heart belonged to another; to the very same one who now came to the door, preparing to escort her down the aisle.

"Are you ready, Princess?"

"Mary, please." Rising, Mary smoothed the skirts of her wedding gown and toyed with the emerald that was hanging on a ribbon around her neck. "Charles, you have to call me Mary!"

"I can't! You're going to be Queen of France in a matter of hours. It wouldn't be right to call you Mary!"

"You have to! If anyone has that right, it is you! Or did the voyage mean nothing to you?"

"Of course it meant something to me!" Charles reeled back as though she had slapped him. Mary flung herself away from him, grateful that Lady Guildford was now in the other room.

"What a lie this gown is!" she hissed through her teeth, "What a lie! I'm not as pure as the spring. I'm not as constant as an emerald. Why, I've broken my vows already, before I've even taken them!"

"Hush! You can't speak like that, it's dangerous!"

"I don't care! I don't care!" In her temper, Mary grabbed her hood and ripped it off her head, flinging it to the floor. "I love you, Charles Brandon! I love you and I don't care who knows it! But from the way you're acting, I wonder whether the voyage actually meant something to you!"

In an instant, he was at her side, gripping her shoulders so tightly that she feared he would break them. "How can you even think that? Of course it did! Of course it meant something to me. But we can't afford to tell anyone! Ever! Francis would kill you if he found out! And Henry would kill me!"

**But I miss screamin' and fightin'  
>And kissin' in the rain<br>You're so in love that you act insane  
>And that's the way I loved you<strong>

**Breakin' down and comin' undone**  
><strong>It's a roller-coaster kinda rush<strong>  
><strong>And I never knew I could feel that much<strong>  
><strong>And that's the way I loved you<strong>

_The storm was raging and every sailor on board the Katherine Philippa was scurrying about, trying to batter down the hatches and pull in the sails before any major damage was done. Unfortunately for them, her most illustrious passenger, the Princess Mary, was standing in the bow, one arm around the figurehead, laughing as the wild winds whipped through her beautiful auburn tresses. Having to step around her and treat her with decorum was slowing the crew down. Eventually, the captain lost patience._

"_My Lady, I beg you, get below NOW! As long as you stay up here, I cannot guarantee your safety." _

"_Oh don't be absurd, Master Swinburne. Go below now? Never!"_

"_You'll do as the captain tells you!" Charles fought his way towards her, shouting to be heard over the howling of the wind!_

"_Oh no, I will not, Master Brandon! I am Princess Mary of England, soon to be Queen of France! I don't have to answer to anyone!"_

_She flung the words at him, lashing out because of all her frustration and pent up tears and every other emotion under the sun; every emotion she'd been feeling ever since Henry had sealed her betrothal to the French King and she realised that she'd be separated from the man who now stood before her._

"_You won't be Queen of anywhere if you die now!"_

"_Who are you to speak to me like that? Duke of Suffolk you may be, but I still outrank you!"_

"_I'm your escort! I'm the one who's going to have to answer to Henry if you die! Besides which, spoiled though you are, I happen to care for you! I don't want your death on my hands!"_

"_Care for me, do you?" she shot at him. "No you don't! If you really cared for me, you wouldn't be taking me to France when I don't want to go!"_

"_I'm doing my duty! My personal feelings have nothing to do with this! Believe me, I'd rather you weren't!"_

"_Prove it!"_

"_Oh, for God's Sake! If it will get you below!" he yelled, leaning forward, wrenching her to him and pounding his lips down upon hers in the most passionate kiss Mary had ever imagined receiving._

**He can't see the smile I'm fakin'  
>And my heart's not breakin'<br>'Cause I'm not feelin' anything at all  
><strong>

That night, Mary sat in her new marriage bed, cream satin bed gown clinging tightly to her clammy skin. Though she would never admit it, she was scared. Not scared of the act itself, God, no, but scared that, despite the cunning plan she had devised, the one that included a hidden vial of blood being spilled over the sheets once Francis had fallen asleep, Francis would realise she wasn't a virgin. Scared that he would realise she didn't – and never would – care for him. Scared that she would betray herself through some word or gesture once they were alone.

A moment later, she was startled out of her reverie by the King coming in, surrounded by his friends and closest associates. The Archbishop of Rouen blessed the marriage bed and called for the courtiers to pray that Mary might prove fruitful, which they did in half-drunken, ringing voices, before Francis shook his head wildly and pushed them all towards the door.

"Get out, the lot of you. Marie's still young. She doesn't need all this ribaldry around her when we're trying to do our duty, thank you."

Bolting the door behind the last of them, he turned back to the bed. "There. We're alone now."

"Yes." Mary agreed, not trusting her voice. Sliding in beside her, Francis reached out to touch her cheek. "Are you scared?"

"A little," Mary replied, carefully omitting to say exactly what she was scared of. After all, she didn't need. Francis, like any other man would do, jumped to the wrong conclusion. And she wasn't about to disillusion him.

"It's natural, Marie. I understand. But don't worry. I'll be as gentle as I can."

"I'm sure you will," she concurred, then averted her eyes and lay back on the pillows as he stripped naked and began to arrange himself on top of her.

"_Lie back and think of England."_

Her grandmother had suggested she do that when she first complained of the idea of bedding a husband. She had only been thirteen at the time, but it seemed a wise thing to do now, in this current situation, so Mary tried to follow her advice. But the trouble was that thinking of England only meant one thing. It meant thinking of him.

**And you were wild and crazy  
>Just so frustrating, intoxicating, complicated<br>Got away by some mistake and now**

**I miss screamin' and fightin'**  
><strong>And kissin' in the rain<strong>  
><strong>It's two a.m. and I'm cursin' your name<strong>  
><strong>I'm so in love that I acted insane<strong>  
><strong>And that's the way I loved you<strong>

_Swept up in the passion of his kiss, Mary felt herself melting into his arms. The next thing she knew, he was bearing her down the ladder to his cabin, locking the door._

_As a Princess, she should have known better, but as an eighteen year old girl faced with the man she adored beyond all reason, there was only one thing she could do._

_Tearing impatiently at the laces of her gown, she ripped it off and then, clad in nothing but a shift, sprang into his arms, kissing him rapturously. "Charles! Oh Charles!" _

_He caught her to him, raining kisses down upon her and carried her to the bed._

_Their bodies wrapped easily around each other, as if they'd been made to match. Within seconds, they'd found a rhythm. A hard, driving, passionate rhythm that suited both their natures perfectly._

_All of a sudden, Mary felt something hard break inside her and the warmth of blood trickling between her legs. "Ah!" She cried out in a mixture of pain, shock and ecstasy._

_At her cry, Charles seemed to recollect himself. He froze, gently withdrew from her and stared at the bloodstained sheets in horror._

"_What have I done? Mary, what the Hell have I just done?"_

"_What I wanted you to!" Shocked that he could hate himself for this, she reached for him, stunned when he pulled away._

"_Fuck! Henry's going to fucking kill me! "_

"_I don't care! Charles, listen to me, I don't care! I loved it! I'm happier now than I've ever been!"_

_Sensing that he might leave her, she acted on a surge of desperation and sprang up to kiss him. Despite himself, he moved under her ministrations, responding just as she'd hoped._

"_See," she purred, "You enjoyed it too, didn't you? You enjoyed all that Tudor passion pouring out into you. I know you did. So take me again, Charles. Take me again."_

_For a moment he hesitated, but then he groaned. Groaned with desire._

"_Oh, what the Hell. Henry's going to kill me anyway."_

_And then he was on top of her again._

Francis's fumbling was nothing in comparison. Nothing. As Mary endured it, she wanted to cry. She'd had so much better. But no one could know that.

No one could know, and so, though she allowed a tear or two to slip from her eyes; just enough to make people think she'd been crying with pain or fear, she swallowed her despair and tried to reconcile herself to her new life. Her new life as Marie Valois, Queen of France.

**Breakin' down and comin' undone  
>It's a roller-coaster kinda rush<br>And I never knew I could feel that much  
>And that's the way I loved you<strong>

**And that's the way I loved you**  
><strong>I never knew I could feel that much<strong>  
><strong>And that's the way I loved you<strong>


	28. Fifteen

**A/N: By Lady Eleanor Boleyn, Catherine Carey set to the fabulous Taylor Swift song, 'Fifteen'. This is one of my favourite of all her songfics, so please review!**

"You'll meet the other girls in the antechamber and then you'll go with them straight to Her Majesty's Chambers. Remember what we have told you. You might be a Carey by name, but through me, my blood, you're a Boleyn and a Howard. You know what that means these days. You know that you, more than anyone, need to show that you deserve to be at Court. Which you do. You're not just a Boleyn and a Howard, Cate. You're royal. You're King Henry's daughter. Whatever anyone says, you're the King's daughter and no one can ever take that away from you."

Catherine Carey, dark haired and beautiful, nodded as her mother finished speaking. "Of course, Mother. But won't you be coming with me?"

"I can't." Her mother shook her head. "I only just got away from Court with my life four years ago. I promised His Majesty I'd never go back. I can't break that promise. Particularly not with Will and Annie so young. They need their mother, Cate. You know that. No. You'll have to do this one on your own."

"Very well. I'll be fine, Mother. "

"I know you will. You're like your aunt. Just as spirited, just as witty. Just as beautiful."

"And I'm not a child, either. I'm fifteen."

"Yes, you are."

Mother and daughter looked at each other briefly, the encouraging words hanging in the air between them. All of a sudden, Cate threw herself at her mother, clinging to her tightly.

"I'll miss you, Mama!" she wept, knowing her mother would be unable to say anything but not caring; burying her face in the warmth of her mother's shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of jasmine mixed with almond oil, drawing strength from its familiarity.

**You take a deep breath and you walk through the doors  
>It's the morning of your very first day<br>And you say hi to your friends you ain't seen in a while  
>Try and stay out of everybody's way<strong>

_"I'm Catherine Carey, daughter of Lady Mary Boleyn-Carey and His Majesty King Henry. Recognised or not, I have royal blood flowing in my veins. None of the girls around me can say that. I'm not one of them. I'm Catherine Carey, daughter of Lady Mary Boleyn-Carey and His Majesty King Henry."_

Repeating the words over and over in her head gave her confidence and when she was ushered in to pay her respects to Queen Anne, Cate was able to curtsy deeply and say "Good Morrow, Your Majesty. I'm Catherine Carey," in a voice that seemed to be completely free of fear.

However, she didn't feel as brave as she appeared on the outside, so when Queen Anne nodded and wished her well, in halting English layered with a thick guttural accent, she was only too glad to escape to the side of the room as the next girl, another Katherine, but this one a true Howard, Katherine Howard, made her curtsy to the Queen, introducing herself in a whisper.

**It's your freshman year and you're gonna be here  
>For the next four years in this town<br>Hoping one of those senior boys will wink at you and say  
>"You know, I haven't seen you around before"<strong>

'Cause when you're fifteen and somebody tells you they love you  
>You're gonna believe them<br>And when you're fifteen feeling like there's nothing to figure out  
>Well, count to ten, take it in<br>This is life before you know who you're gonna be  
>Fifteen<p>

Leaning against the wall, Cate tried to slow her racing heart. For God's Sake, she had only presented herself to the Queen. She hadn't had a brush with an executioner! There was no reason for her to be so nervous!

But she couldn't deny that she was, so she was quite relieved when the girl who had just come in after her rose from her curtsy and came over towards her. Even if she didn't become one of Cate's best friends, she was a welcome distraction for now.

"I'm Kitty. Kitty Howard."

"Cate. Catherine, I mean. Catherine Carey."

"Well, you shall have to be Cate to me. There are far too many Katherines and Catherines for me ever to be able to keep them all apart." The other girl spoke with a certain confidence that Cate envied, even though the rest of her manner belied how immature she still was. She laughed nervously.

"You're one yourself!"

"Oh, I know, but everyone calls me Kitty. Katherine doesn't feel like me at all. You _will_ call me Kitty, won't you?"

"Of course!"

"Oh good! I'm sure we're going to be the best of friends! Which means…" Here Kitty glanced around and lowered her voice dramatically, "Which of these young men do you have your eye on?"

"Kitty! I've only been here an hour! How should I know?"

"Oh that doesn't matter. I've already found several I want to get to know better. Like that dark-haired one over by the door. Do you see him?"

"Yes, but how do you…"

"Come on! We must go over and introduce ourselves!"

With that, Kitty dragged her over, ignoring her half-hearted protests.

**You sit in class next to a redhead named Abigail  
>And soon enough you're best friends<br>Laughing at the other girls who think they're so cool  
>We'll be outta here as soon as we can<strong>

From then on, they were inseparable. "The Two Katherines," everyone called them.

At first glance they were total opposites. Kitty was fair, curvy and childish; Cate dark, slender and sensible. One loved riding, languages and embroidery; the other music, dancing and puppets. Yet, though the other courtiers often wondered what two such different girls could have in common to draw them so tightly together, they always forgot the first thing on any girl's mind. Young men. Young rich handsome men, to be precise.

Kitty drew them to her like a magnet, and Cate, for all she was more mature and better-versed in the ways of the world, found herself admiring the older girl's easy skill with them. She watched Kitty like a hawk, or the falcon on her aunt's badge, trying to work out what it was that attracted them to Kitty so.

Was it her playful manner? Her seductive sidelong glances? Her unabashed confidence and blatant emotions? Cate didn't know, but whatever it was, she wanted to be a part of it. She couldn't help but want to be a part of it. Like any maid of her age, she dreamed of a man who loved her and if Kitty's tricks would help her get one, then she was more than happy to go along with them.

**And then you're on your very first date and he's got a car  
>And you're feeling like flying<br>And you're momma's waiting up and you're thinking he's the one  
>And you're dancing 'round your room when the night ends<br>When the night ends**

But there was one of the many young men who hung round them who didn't like Kitty. It wasn't her teasing flirtatiousness that attracted him to their group, but rather Cate's quieter, determined self-assurance. By some odd piece of irony, it was the same dark-haired one that Kitty had pointed out to Cate on their very first morning at Court.

One night when Kitty was sick, but the others, under Cate's careful leadership for once, were dancing for the King, trying to distract him from the pain in his leg he followed up on his interest.

"Mistress Carey? Might I have the honour of a dance?"

"I regret to say, Sir, that I only dance with those I have been introduced to" Cate replied primly, kicking herself a moment later. What in heaven's name was she thinking? He was pleasant and handsome enough. She couldn't afford to ruin their first meeting by standing on propriety. Kitty had told her that often enough!

To her relief, though, he was smiling. "Very wise, Mistress Carey. Forgive me for having been so remiss. I am Sir Francis Knollys, one of His Majesty's Privy Councillors."

He bowed, and she slipped down into a half-curtsy to hide the flush in her cheeks as he reached for her hand, asking "Now may we dance, do you think?"

"Of course, Sir Francis. With pleasure."

As he led her round the floor, Cate found her heart skipping merrily in time to the music and, when he turned to her as the tune drew to a close and asked "You have quite some skill, Mistress Carey. Would you care to partner me again?" she could only nod breathlessly.

She barely slept that night. Even when she finally got to bed, she was too busy replaying the evening over and over in her head to think of sleeping. Her eyes finally closed around daybreak, less than an hour before she had to rise to accompany the Queen to Mass.

Yet, somehow, she wasn't tired. The mere thought of Sir Francis holding her in his arms was enough to sustain her. She knew somehow, without being told, that she would do anything to see him again.

**'Cause when you're fifteen and somebody tells you they love you  
>You're gonna believe them<br>When you're fifteen and your first kiss  
>Makes your head spin 'round<br>But in your life you'll do things greater than  
>Dating the boy on the football team<br>But I didn't know it at fifteen**

And they did see each other again. The days stretched into weeks, the weeks into months and they continued to see each other. Francis found excuses to linger in the Queen's rooms and talk to her. Cate, always a keen rider, just like any other Boleyn woman, spent more and more time down by the stables or with the King's hunting hounds, hoping to see him.

Whenever she did, they would ride out together, and he would tease her and flirt with her, calling her Diana, Ceres, Artemis, his own little Queen Catherine.

Though his names discomfited her, Cate never let it show – she was half-royal as well as being a Boleyn and a Howard, and anyway, the pleasure she otherwise derived from Francis's company made the nicknames a small enough price to pay.

And then there was the day that Cate would never forget, not as long as she lived. The day that was indelibly burned into the back of her mind. The day he first kissed her.

"_Oh Cate, you look beautiful! A true Ceres, aren't you?"_

"_I don't know about that…" Blushing, Cate looked down, fiddling with the tangled strands of her mare's mane as they drew rein by the lake and gazed out over its sparkling depths. Francis nodded. "Yes you are," he assured her, dismounting and coming over to help her off her horse._

"_Will you come down to me, Ceres? Will you come and join this mortal on terra firma?"_

_Without a word, Cate slid, tantalisingly slowly, down the side of her horse and into his arms._

"_Thank you, Francis," she said calmly, trying to hide the rapid beat of her heart beneath an icy exterior. She would have pulled away, but he locked his arms around her waist, keeping her close to him._

"_Do you know how maddening you are sometimes, Cate? I really don't know how you feel about me, what with you blowing hot and cold all the time."_

_She would have liked nothing more than to fling herself against him, crying out her love for him, but that wasn't how Boleyns acted, particularly not half-royal ones. Instead, she merely raised an eyebrow, saying archly, "Neither do I know how you feel about me, Francis. If you wish me to tell you, then you must tell me first."_

_For a moment, he just stared at her, stunned. Then, sharply bending his head, he pressed her to his chest and crushed his lips to hers by way of an answer._

**When all you wanted was to be wanted  
>Wish you could go back and tell yourself what you know now<strong>

Back then I swore I was gonna marry him someday  
>But I realized some bigger dreams of mine<br>And Abigail gave everything she had to a boy  
>Who changed his mind and we both cried<p>

Flying back to the Palace, Cate flew into the bedchamber she shared with Kitty, crying "He's kissed me! Francis! He kissed me!"

"Congratulations! I'm so happy for you, Cate! I know you like him," Kitty replied, clearly trying to remain cheerful, but Cate knew instantly that something was wrong.

"What is it? Kitty. Tell me. What's wrong?"

Suddenly, Kitty couldn't help herself. She burst into tears.

"Kitty!"

Rushing forward, Cate pulled her friend into her arms, holding her tight, rubbing her back as though she was Will or little Annie . "What's wrong?"

"John! He told me he was betrothed! He told me he doesn't want to see me again!"

"Oh, Kitty! I'm sorry," Cate murmured, not knowing what else to say, hardly sure of anything except that rubbing her happiness with Francis would not be a good idea right now.

"You don't understand! He swore he loved me! He swore it! I gave him everything! Everything!"

For a moment, Cate barely heard what Kitty had said. Then the import of those broken-hearted sentences sank fully into her consciousness and she gasped.

"You didn't! Not… He didn't! You didn't! Katherine Howard, tell me you didn't!"

"He swore he loved me! He swore, Cate!"

"And you believed him! How could you? How could you be so stupid, Kitty!"

Cate could almost have shaken Kitty. She was seventeen, for God's sake! She knew the stories of Cate's father. She knew that men blew both hot and cold! She knew what happened to any woman who surrendered her virtue before marriage!

Yet, looking down on Kitty's strawberry-blonde tresses, as her friend wept into her chest, Cate couldn't bring herself to scold her. She made such a pitiful figure, in fact, that Cate felt her own tears welling up.

"Oh Kitty, I'm so sorry! So, so sorry!"

Cradling her friend close, she let her weep passionately, vent her sorrows, even as she, Cate, vented her own, pouring tears of angry regret down upon Kitty's pretty little head. Curled up together like that, before the fire in their little room, they cried until they were too exhausted to cry any more. And then they slept, slept the deep, dreamless sleep of people who are both emotionally and physically desperate and exhausted.

**'Cause when you're fifteen and somebody tells you they love you  
>You're gonna believe them<br>And when you're fifteen, don't forget to look before you fall  
>I've found time can heal most anything<br>And you just might find who you're supposed to be  
>I didn't know who I was supposed to be at fifteen<strong>

Four months later, Catherine, newly wed to Sir Francis Knollys, followed the hem of Kitty's dress as the two of them walked up the length of the Chapel of Oatlands Palace. Kitty, radiantly lovely in virginal white, smiled as His Majesty King Henry of England, held out his hand to her.

"Sweetheart. How beautiful you are."

With that, he turned her towards the altar and prepared to make her his wife.

Cate, standing to one side as befitted her position as a witness, could read every nuance of Kitty's body language. She could see how nervous her friend was. Nervous about wedding the King and becoming Queen. Nervous that someone would one day uncover the past and her liaison with John. Nervous that the image of a Rose Without A Thorn, the Rosa sine Spina, that she and Cate had worked so hard to create and maintain, would one shattered, leaving her totally exposed.

But she also knew that Kitty would be fine. They both would be. After all, they were The Two Katherines. They were Her Majesty Katherine Howard, Queen of England and Lady Catherine Knollys _nee_ Carey, the daughter of Lady Mary Boleyn-Carey and His Majesty King could they not be fine? How could anything go wrong for them? How could they not be invincible?

**Your very first day**  
><strong>Take a deep breath girl<strong>  
><strong>Take a deep breath as you walk through the doors<strong>


	29. I Don't Believe You

**A/N: Another Lady Eleanor Boleyn (she puts me to shame!), for Mary and Anne Boleyn to Pink's "I Don't Believe You". This one is really great too, as always. Please review!**

Mary opened the door of her bedchamber at the insistent rapping and started as her younger sister Anne stumbled in, her hair tumbling loose behind her, tears shining in her eyes.

"Anne! What's wrong?"

Shutting the door, Mary turned to Anne, inwardly thanking God that William Stafford had just left, even though she loved him with all her heart, the way she had once loved the King. Anne raised a tear-stained face to hers, and Mary knew. Just like Anne had known she would. Mary always knew. "Is it Henry?"

Not trusting her voice, Anne nodded and Mary crossed the room without another word – crossed it in two strides and caught her younger sister in her embrace. "Oh Anne!"

"He's doing it again. Courting another girl."

Mary didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say. She just rocked her younger sister to and fro in her arms, and let her own memories wash over her.

**I don't mind it  
>I don't mind at all<br>It's like you're the swing set  
>And I'm the kid that falls<strong>

_She had always loved the King; right from her very first day as one of Queen Katherine's maids of honour, when he had noticed her with some surprise and then beckoned her over. _

"_Good morning, Mistress. What's your name?"_

_God, she had been struck dumb, unable even to form her own name with her lips as she dipped down into a curtsy and held it. Queen Katherine had saved her in the end, breaking in with her soft, heavily accented English "This is my new maid, husband. Mistress Marianne Boleyn."_

_King Henry had looked her up and down and then murmured "Marianne. A French name. A French name for an English rose. Strange. Strange, but I like it."_

"_Thank you, Your Majesty." The words had slipped from her lips and then she had been dismissed and she had had to withdraw to join the rest of Katherine's ladies, but she had been unable to pay attention to her sewing or even to the Bible reading for the rest of the King's visit. Despite her best efforts, the King captivated her, drew her eyes to him with his every movement. She had fallen for him then, fallen for him as hard as any moonstruck maiden falls for the object of her first crush. _

**It's like the way we fight  
>The times I've cried<br>We come to blows  
>And every night<br>The passion's there  
>So it's got to be right<br>Right?**

"I could smell the whore on him. I struck him, Mary. I struck him. What was I thinking?" Anne's panicked voice broke into Mary's thoughts and she unpinned Anne's hood to stroke her raven hair as she held her.

"Shh. It'll be all right. He'll forgive you. He loves you, doesn't he? He might well call another girl to his bed during the day, but who does he visit every night? Who's going to be the one woman who's going to give him the heir he needs? It'll be you, Annie. You'll see."

"Do you think so?" Anne's voice was trembling, unsure. Mary nodded, her hands on Anne's shoulders.

"I know so."

**No I don't believe you  
>When you say don't come around here no more<br>I won't remind you  
>You said we wouldn't be apart<br>No I don't believe you  
>When you say you don't need me anymore<br>So don't pretend to  
>Not love me at all<strong>

_Then, out of the blue, he had started to return her feelings. He had started to court her, given her diamonds worth a fortune to wear in her ears, round her throat, in her hair. He had named a ship for her, taken her on progress with him instead of taking the Queen. He had told her that he wanted her for his Queen forever, called his Boleyn beauty, his darling, his beloved. They had had one golden summer together, playing the lover and his sweetheart rather than the King and his courtesan, but then, when Autumn came and they returned to Greenwich, it had all gone wrong. He had withdrawn from her, gone cold and distant, shunned her when she arrived in his bedchamber, expecting him to take her in his arms and kiss her as he used to._

_She had been stunned; just the way Anne was now._

**I don't mind it  
>I still don't mind at all<br>It's like one of those bad dreams  
>When you can't wake up<br>It's like you've given up  
>You've had enough<br>But I want more  
>No I won't stop<br>Because I just know  
>You'll come around<br>Right?**

"I can't lose him, Mary. I can't! For Elizabeth's sake, I have to win him back to me, however I can."

"And you will, Anne. If you're sure of yourself, then you will. There's no one more determined than you. You'll win him back. I'm sure of it."

"He used to love me – love me for my own sake! Now it's as if he just tolerates me because there's no other choice. It's as if he's given up loving me. But I won't let him. I won't! I've been the mistress of his heart for seven long years, Mary. I know how to please him. That has to count for something."

"Of course it does." Mary soothed. "He'll come around, Anne. You're perfect for him. You just keep being yourself – the captivating exotic Boleyn beauty that I know you can be, and he'll come around. He'll have to."

**No I don't believe you  
>When you say don't come around here no more<br>I won't remind you  
>You said we wouldn't be apart<br>No I don't believe you  
>When you say you don't need me anymore<br>So don't pretend to  
>Not love me at all<strong>

_She had even gone to his private chapel one morning after Mass, knowing she had one last trump card and determined to play it for all it was worth. _

"_Henry. Your Majesty."_

"_Yes, Lady Carey?" His eyes had been cold and hard that morning, as cold and as hard as the December frost on the ground outside, as he watched her curtsy before him. Greatly daring, she had reached out a supplicating hand to him. "May we talk? In private?"_

_He had stared at her, stared into her cornflower blue eyes with his own, until she whispered "Please. For old times' sake?"_

_He had taken one last look at her then, before dismissing the gentlemen around him with a jerk of his head. "What is it?" He asked shortly, impatient to be off as always._

"_I'm with child." There, she had said it, blurted it out before she could stop herself. He couldn't cast her off now. He just couldn't!_

"_What? Why are you telling me? Tell your husband, why don't you?"_

"_But…it isn't William's. It is yours, Your Majesty. Your child. It could be your son."_

_A fleeting look of pure amazement crossed his face before he turned and strode away from her without another word, his face as black as thunder, his jaw set._

**Just don't stand there and watch me fall  
>Because I, because I still don't mind at all<strong>

"_Your Majesty? Your Majesty?" she had called after him. He didn't even look round as he shouted. "You are dismissed from Court, Lady Carey. I don't want to see you again."_

_She had stood still as he left her, stunned into silence. That wasn't how things had been meant to go at all. He had been supposed to love her again. After all, everyone knew the Queen was barren. He was supposed to have been thrilled at the thought of a child – even a natural child rather than one born in wedlock._

_And yet, she couldn't even rail at him for being unfair. She just couldn't. Even then, amidst the depths of her despair, she had loved him too much for that. She had just stared after his retreating back, shocked to her very core and then she had turned and fled, fled to the privacy of her chamber where she had cried and cried, cried until she had cleansed her very soul._

**It's like the way we fight  
>The times I've cried<br>We come to blows  
>And every night<br>The passions there  
>So it's got to be right,<br>Right?**

"He still loves me. I can still arouse him, Mary. No matter what he says to me, no matter what I say to him, no matter what happens between us, I still arouse him." Anne repeated, as though she was trying to convince herself of what she was saying. Mary just held her sister silently, unable to think of anything to say.

"That has to mean I still mean something to him. It just has to! I refuse to believe that he really doesn't care for me any more. No, Mary. I'm going to keep him. I'm going to fight this harlot for him and I'm going to win. I am Anne, Queen of England and I shall remain Anne, Queen of England. I swear it on my very life."

Anne pushed away from Mary's chest and straightened her shoulders, tilting her head proudly. Even though her eyes were moist and her dress was creased, her face was alight with a sudden determination and she looked the very essence of a man's burning desire. She looked a force to be reckoned with.

**No I don't believe you  
>When you say don't come around here no more<br>I won't remind you  
>You said we wouldn't be apart<br>No I don't believe you  
>When you say you don't need me anymore<br>So don't pretend to  
>Not love me at all<strong>

As Anne opened the door and went out of it, calling for her maids as she went, Mary followed her slowly, watching her sister's ramrod back. Anne was on the warpath, but this time she was fighting with everything she had, because she wasn't just fighting for herself. She was fighting for her daughter, the infant Princess Elizabeth and for everything else she had, even, possibly, her own life. And what's more, she knew it. She was Anne Boleyn, Queen of England, Ireland and France, and she was the most determined woman in Christendom. She was not going to go down without a fight.

"_The King's harlot, whoever she is, had better start treasuring her hours with Henry", _Mary thought, _"Because her days are numbered."_


	30. Hey Stephen

**A/N: Hey, GreenField here, a songfic for a young Catherine of Aragon (between the death of Arthur and her marriage to Henry), set to Taylor Swift's 'Hey Stephen'. Please review!**

_Hey Stephen, I know looks can be deceiving  
>But I know I saw a light in you<br>And as we walked we were talking  
>I didn't say half the things I wanted to<em>

"Good morrow to you, Princess"

Catalina (or Catherine, as she was now known) drew her gaze reluctantly away from the swans on the river that rushed beside her new home. Swans mated for life, she recalled, just as she and Arthur would have done, had he lived. Had the marriage been consummated. A terrible, sinful part of her was almost glad Arthur was dead. She had been strong, ready and willing to do her duty as the future Queen of England, but Arthur had been weak, and she knew that if their marriage had continued, no children would have ever been born to her, and she so wanted children, the country needed heirs. She would not pretend that she had loved Arthur as these two swans loved each other, despite the fact that she was swathed in black.

"Princess?"

Catherine had turned without seeing, but at this prompt, she did see. And what she saw startled her.

A messenger stood before her, looking to be roughly the same age as herself. He was very handsome, with curls of golden hair like the angel Gabriel and dark eyes that shone with a vivid inner light. His smile was warm and friendly – his was the only friendly face she had seen in the year since Arthur's death that she had been neglected, other than that of her beloved Maria de Salinas. She could not resist smiling in return, though it was quite against decorum to smile so amiably while in mourning.

"Yes?" she tried to sound distant, as she was supposed to with the servants, but she was sure than her emerald eyes were betraying how delighted she was to see such a handsome and cheerful man in the gardens of her run down new home. She was sure he had noticed, for his smile deepened. He had dimples in his cheeks.

"I have a message for you that the King has passed on, from your mother" he paused, "It is a lengthy message"

"It is?" she cocked her head, longing to release her bright auburn hair from its restricting hairstyle, desperate to catch his eye, "You may walk with me, young sir, to relay your message" another pause, "What is your name?"

"Stephen, Princess"

_Of all the girls tossing rocks at your window_  
><em>I'll be the one waiting there even when it's cold<em>  
><em>Hey Stephen, boy, you might have me believing<em>  
><em>I don't always have to be alone<em>

_'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel  
>Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain so<br>Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you  
>Can't help it if there's no one else<br>Mmm, I can't help myself_

From that day onward, Catherine appointed Stephen to join her meagre household. She could not afford to pay him, but he insisted that her friendship was enough, and Catherine found that she felt the same. She felt young and giddy, like a teenager again, and she was behaving much more like a serving girl than a widowed princess of Spain and England. And although she knew that nothing could happen between them, her heart inexplicably ached for Stephen; she adored him. Maria scolded her about her lack of decorum, but Catherine just laughed.

"This country is so dull, Maria, and I feel so alone; surely I may have Stephen as a friend?"

"He is far below you, my lady"

"He is a dear friend, and he makes me feel younger, like I felt back in Alhambra with my sisters"

"I fear that your affection for him is too deep"

Catherine shook this off and protested, but each day she would wake at first light and run to wake him, throwing pebbles at his window. They talked and romped like children sometimes, and she loved having someone to care for her and amuse her. The other servant girls glared at her behind her back, this foolish princess, and tried to catch Stephen's attention themselves, with their loosened hair and loose-laced gowns and fluttering eyelashes. But Stephen paid them no attention, content to walk around with his Spanish princess and devote his time to her for days on end, even when the dull English weather caused rain to fall upon them.

_Hey Stephen, I've been holding back this feeling_  
><em>So I got some things to say to you<em>  
><em>I've seen it all, so I thought<em>  
><em>But I never seen nobody shine the way you do<em>

_The way you walk, way you talk, way you say my name  
>It's beautiful, wonderful, don't you ever change<br>Hey Stephen, why are people always leaving?  
>I think you and I should stay the same<br>_

Catherine and Stephen were huddling under a slowly withering oak tree one evening as the rain tumbled down around them. It was improper for her to be alone with a man, especially at this time of day, but Catherine found that she no longer cared. Surely no-one would suspect her of any wrongdoing with a servant like Stephen, surely? Even though he was so handsome...and if word of her dalliance with him got back to court...to the ears of her father-in-law...

But nothing had happened between them and, although Catherine would have liked it to, she knew it must stay that way. She would not risk her reputation; she needed to make a good marriage here in England, to stop the expense of the voyage being a complete waste for her mother and father, although, before Stephen, she would have liked nothing better than to return to the Alhambra.

"Oh, Princess, your gown is soaked through!" Stephen cried as they huddled close beneath the thinning leaves. Catherine was, indeed, dripping wet, and shivering to boot. Stephen pulled off his shoddy cloak and draped it around her, and her fingers sought to pull it closer around her, breathing in his scent and taking in his warmth.

"Thank you, Stephen" she said quietely.

"Catalina" Stephen replied softly, smiling, and said nothing more. Catherine shuddered with delight. No-one had called her by her true name for such a long time, and to hear from Stephen's lips, the man who meant so much to her – the man who, she realised, she had fallen quite in love with.

"No-one has called me that for so long!" she exclaimed. Stephen looked startled.

"Did I do wrong by you, Princess?"

"No!" Catherine cried in protest, "No! It pleases me so to hear you call me by my real name. It makes me feel as though...as though I am back home"

"Good" said Stephen quietely, "I do want you to feel at home in my company, Catalina"

_'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel  
>Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain so<br>Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you  
>Can't help it if there's no one else<br>Mmm, I can't help myself_

_They're dimming the street lights, you're perfect for me_  
><em>Why aren't you here tonight?<em>  
><em>I'm waiting alone now, so come on and come out<em>  
><em>And pull me near and shine, shine, shine<em>

The eve before Christmas, Catherine finally changed out of her morning clothes. Stephen had been away at court, to catch up on events and see if there were any messages for her, as was his duty, and he was due back that very day. She wore a beautiful burgundy gown bought from Spain, and a wreath of holly and ivy leaves in her flaming hair. She knew that she looked exotic and beautiful, and she was sure that Stephen would notice.

Maria tutted, but knew better than to argue with her mistress. She took relief in Catherine's good sense, knowing that the young woman would do nothing to damage her reputation.

"Catalina" Stephen bowed, his handsome beam glittering in the firelight, "You have come out of mourning, I see"

"For the festive period" Catherine explained with a smile in return, patting the seat beside her, "Come sit with me, and tell me news from court"

She ached to kiss him, now that he was so near. Oh, she so longed to kiss him.

Stephen suddenly pulled her into a bone-crushing embrace, startling and delighting her. Catherine embraced him in return, lifting her glowing, golden face up to his, eyes bright with joy.

"Oh, Stephen, I – "

He leapt away from her to the seat at opposite instead, at a more proper distant. His cheeks were pink.

"I am sorry, Madam, I forgot myself. Would you like me to leave?" a golden curl hung over one of his dark eyes. Catherine was trembling all over from the embrace, and was staring at him.

"Why, no!" she exclaimed, "No, I – please, come here and sit beside me"

Stephen looked at her in surprise, and moved back to his original seat. They smiled awkwardly at each other.

_Hey Stephen, I could give you fifty reasons  
>Why I should be the one you choose<br>All those other girls, well, they're beautiful  
>But would they write a song for you?<em>

"Would you like to hear a Spanish tune?" Catherine asked, "It is from my childhood. A song for Christmastide"

Stephen nodded, smiling once again, "I should be glad if you would oblige me with such a song"

Catherine smiled and opened her mouth. The song was an ancient one in celebration of the birth of Jesus, and, sung in her rich Spanish accent, it had a new level of depth and meaning to it. Stephen watched her, mesmerised, and Catherine sang every word with her eyes fixed on his angelic face.

"That was beautiful, Catalina" Stephen praised when she had finished, and hesitantly reached up to stroke his hand against her rosy cheek. Catherine drew in a sharp breath and her smile grew; he traced her lips.

The kiss came naturally, at last, and Catherine could not imagine that she had would ever be this happy again.

_I can't help it if you look like an angel  
>Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain so<br>Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you  
>Can't help it if there's no one else<br>Mmm, I can't help myself_

_If you look like an angel_  
><em>Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain so<em>  
><em>Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you<em>  
><em>Can't help it if there's no one else<em>  
><em>Mmm, I can't help myself<em>

Several years later, standing at the altar with a golden haired man who was not Stephen, Catherine could not help wondering what would happen to Stephen now. Her widower's household had been dissolved, aside from Maria, and she knew not where he was. All she knew was that young Henry, in his looks, at least, reminded her of Stephen, though his eyes were piercing blue rather than dark. But she missed Stephen's sincerity, so different from Henry's youthful exuberance.

She would never forget Stephen, who had drawn her out of her shell in this harsh, unfamiliar country and who had loved her as much as she did him.

Of course, no-one would ever know what had passed between she and Stephen. She had erased most of it from her own mind, thrown herself deep into religion rather than the sin of lust and adultery.

But she would not forget how he had been her angel.

_Myself_  
><em>Can't help myself<em>  
><em>I can't help myself<em>


	31. All the Right Moves

**A/N: Hey, GreenField here. I warn you now, I am about to upload all my songfics that I have scattered throughout my account, so you may find yourself suddenly flooded with emails. If you've subscribed, that it ;). The song used is All The Right Moves by One Republic, and it's a kind of strange songfic with the advice that someone should have given Anne – it might have kept her safe.**

_All the right friends in all the right places  
>So yeah, we're going down<br>They've got  
>All the right moves in all the right faces<br>So yeah, we're going down_

You may be a Queen now, Anne, but this isn't over. The fight isn't over. You've still got enemies. You've got to be prepared to fight for your life just like you fought for this marriage, for this coronation. You and all the people closest to you, all the people you love, you've got to watch your back – else the next time you look there'll be a knife sticking out of it. You and George and Mary, you've got to stick together.

_Let's paint the picture  
>Of the perfect place<br>They've got it better then when anyone's told ya  
>They'll be the King of Hearts, and you're the Queen of Spades<br>Then we'll fight for you like we were your soldiers_

Yes, you think it's perfect now. You carry the heir to the throne of England, everyone who is everyone is here celebrating your coronation. But what if it's a girl, Anne? Have you even begun to think of that? You've got your enemies – the people closest to Henry, like Suffolk and that ambassador Chapuys. And More. There's still Thomas More to contend with. They'll watch you fall and they'll laugh about it. They might even have a party and drink too much wine and laugh at the upstart Anne Boleyn. But you do have the people on your side. George, Mary, Mark, Harry Norris, maybe your Father. You have your own army.

_I know we've got it good  
>But they've got it made<br>And the grass is getting greener each day  
>I know things are looking up, but soon they'll take us down<br>Before anybody's knowing our name  
>They've got...<em>

Yes, life is good. You're pregnant with an heir, a strong heir who beats at your insides with his little fists and fat feet. Your reformation has worked, not that Cromwell seems as enthusiastic about it as he used to be. Maybe he'll turn against you too, Anne. Maybe one day he'll get rid of you somehow, exile you to France, poison your dinner, and then Henry will marry again and no-one will ever even think of poor Nan Bullen.

_All the right friends in all the right places  
>So yeah, we're going down<br>They've got  
>All the right moves in all the right faces<br>So yeah, we're going down_

_They say  
>Everybody knows, everybody knows where we're going<br>Yeah, we're going down  
>They say<br>Everybody knows, everybody knows where we're going  
>Yeah, we're going down<em>

They whisper about it when they think you aren't listening, Anne. They say that the King doesn't love you as much as he did when he fought for this divorce. They say that over those six years of waiting and demanding and excommunication he started to lose interest in you – but he married you so that he wouldn't look like a fool, for all the pain and effort he'd gone through. I don't believe that for a second, Anne, and neither should you, but they still say it. You can't stop them from talking.

_Do you think I'm special?  
>Do you think I'm nice?<br>Am I bright enough to shine in your spaces?  
>Between the noise you hear, and the sounds you like<br>Are we just sinking the ocean of faces?  
>It can't be possible... the rain can fall<br>Only when it's over our heads.  
>The sun is shining everyday, but it's far away.<br>Over the world that's dead._

You let George in, you always let him in. He's your brother, your twin soul, your best friend. He knows all your thoughts and fears. He knows more about you than Henry ever could. But he just fades away in the rest of the crowd at court. History won't remember him like they remember you. Or will they remember you? You need to keep on shining, you and George, keep being a Queen. You need to be a good Queen, and bear an heir, and you'll become immortal.

_They've got, they've got...  
>All the right friends in all the right places<br>So yeah, we're going down  
>They've got<br>All the right moves in all the right faces  
>So yeah, we're going down<em>

_They say  
>Everybody knows, everybody knows where we're going<br>Yeah, we're going down  
>They say<br>Everybody knows, everybody knows where we're going  
>Yeah, we're going down<em>

You think about that, all the advice you got from your Father, from your Mother, from your sister and brother and friends. You think you don't need them anymore, because you're special now. Don't make that mistake. You need them.

_It don't matter what you see  
>I know I could never be<br>Someone that'll look like you.  
>It don't matter what you say<br>I know I could never fake  
>Someone that could sound like you. <em>

_All the right friends in all the right places  
>So yeah, we're going down<br>They've got  
>All the right moves in all the right faces<br>So yeah, we're going down_

So now smile, raise your head high. Watch as your husband dances around the hall with a pretty new lady that looks like you did, once, what seems like forever ago. Now you wear the same compliant, steady smile that she did before you, that Katherine did, whenever she saw Henry dancing with you. Be like her, Anne, ignore his affairs, ignore his mistresses. If you ignore them they fade into nothing – they don't have your stamina, Anne, they can't hold on like you. This is your coronation, and don't forget it, but don't abuse your position either.

_They say  
>Everybody knows, everybody knows where we're going<br>Yeah, we're going down  
>They say<br>Everybody knows, everybody knows where we're going  
>Yeah, we're going down <em>

_Yeah, we're going down_

_All the right moves... hey  
>Yeah we're going down<br>They say  
>All the right moves... hey<br>Yeah we're going down_

Don't forget this, Anne. You're going to need this.


	32. Mr Brightside

A/N: Hey, GreenField again. This is the first songfic I ever wrote, and I don't like it very much now, but you know, you might as well have a read, if you want. Song is Mr Brightside, by The Killers (one of my favourite songs of all time!), set in 1535.

_I'm coming out of my cage  
>And I've been doing just fine<br>Gotta gotta be down  
>Because I want it all<em>

Anne danced slowly and purposefully, making sure that whichever way she turned she could still see the King and the pretty little blonde he had become so attached to. It was her first full night at court since the incident with her unborn child. She needed to win back the King's love.

_It started out with a kiss  
>How did it end up like this?<br>It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss_

Anne had only seen Henry kiss the girl once, and that so long ago – how had he suddenly become so infatuated with her when she was the exact opposite of Anne herself?

_Now I'm falling asleep  
>And she's calling a cab<br>While he's having a smoke  
>And she's taking a drag<br>Now they're going to bed  
>And my stomach is sick<br>And it's all in my head  
>But she's touching his chest<br>Now, he takes off her dress  
>Now, letting me go<em>

Anne tried to stop the vile images from flooding her mind, but she thought that she might go mad with the difficulty of doing so. Thoughts and pictures rushed through her brain, moving faster and faster, getting more and more confusing...

_And I just can't look - it's killing me  
>And taking control<br>Jealousy, turning saints into the sea  
>Turning through sick lullabies<br>Choking on your alibis  
>But it's just the price I pay<br>Destiny is calling me  
>Open up my eager eyes<br>'Cause I'm Mr Brightside_

She tried desperately to think of more positive thoughts. He had taken mistresses before, of course, but this girl was different. He had lied to her, she had found him sitting with that shameless harlot perched on his knee, so sweet and innocent. But she was his Anne. He had torn the country apart for her, his true love, he could not fail her now.

_I'm coming out of my cage  
>And I've been doing just fine<br>Gotta gotta be down  
>Because I want it all<br>It started out with a kiss  
>How did it end up like this?<br>It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss_

Maybe he had heard about her kissing Mark and this was his revenge? But it had just been one little kiss, so insignificant, and surely now, this kiss of his would be insignificant too?

_Now I'm falling asleep  
>And she's calling a cab<br>While he's having a smoke  
>And she's taking a drag<br>Now they're going to bed  
>And my stomach is sick<br>And it's all in my head  
>But she's touching his chest<br>Now, he takes off her dress  
>Now, letting me go<em>

Anne could picture it so easily, though, Henry taking the petite blonde just as hungrily and eagerly as he had once taken Anne herself when she had given up her body to him. But this girl was playing the same game, using the same tricks – George said that the girl was also refusing to lie with him. What sort of woman ever refused the King, other than Anne herself?

_'Cause I just can't look - it's killing me  
>And taking control<br>Jealousy, turning saints into the sea  
>Turning through sick lullabies<br>Choking on your alibis  
>But it's just the price I pay<br>Destiny is calling me  
>Open up my eager eyes<br>'Cause I'm Mr Brightside_

It would all be fine, it had to be. Anne was Queen of England, for God's sake, no-one could ever harm her, no-one could bring her down. She was his Anne! But the girl...she was a problem. What was her name?

_I never...  
>I never...<br>I never...  
>I never...<em>

Jane Seymour.


	33. Don't Wanna Miss a Thing

**A/N:GreenField here. I absolutely love this song, and it's another one that reminds me of Elizabeth and George's relationship. ELIZABETH'S POV. Song is Don't Wanna Miss a Thing by Aerosmith. **

_I could stay awake just to hear you breathing  
>Watch you smile while you are sleeping<br>Far away and dreaming  
>I could spend my life in this sweet surrender<br>I could stay lost in this moment forever  
>Well, every moment spent with you<br>Is a moment I treasure_

I never dreamed that I would ever fall in love with someone who loves me so deeply in return. When I was four years of age I fell in love with George, and I thought that he would always think of me as a child, his little sister, almost, for our whole lives. Even when I decided that I would make him love me, I never thought that it would work. And now here we are.

He sleeps beside me, a smile on his lips, his arm around me. I wonder if it is me that he thinks of, day in, day out, every day, like I do with him. I wonder if it is my face that haunts his dream, my laugh that rings in his ears. I love him, I could never have it any other way.

_I don't wanna close my eyes  
>I don't wanna fall asleep<br>'Cause I'd miss you, babe  
>And I don't wanna miss a thing<br>'Cause even when I dream of you  
>The sweetest dream will never do<br>I'd still miss you, babe  
>And I don't wanna miss a thing<em>

I look at him, reach out to brush my fingers lightly through his dark curly hair, stroke my fingertips over his smiling lips, his strong jaw, his firm brow, his palely bruised eyelids. I remember everything that has passed between us, how we have spent evenings dancing together, how we do everything that a man and wife do and more. Even when I close my eyes I see his laughing face imprinted on the inside of my eyelids.

_Lying close to you  
>Feeling your heart beating<br>And I'm wondering what you're dreaming  
>Wondering if it's me you're seeing<br>Then I kiss your eyes and thank God we're together  
>And I just wanna stay with you<br>In this moment forever, forever and ever_

I twist my fingers gently through the dark, sparse curls on his muscular chest, feel the throbbing of his heart under my palm. I kiss him, very gently, my lips catching a little on his before I pull away. He stirs and moves closer to me before falling back to sleep. I could never, never leave him.

_I don't wanna close my eyes  
>I don't wanna fall asleep<br>'Cause I'd miss you, babe  
>And I don't wanna miss a thing<br>'Cause even when I dream of you  
>The sweetest dream will never do<br>I'd still miss you, babe  
>And I don't wanna miss a thing<em>

But now I do not know how long we have left. It is the most terrible thing I have ever had to contemplate, but one day maybe I will only see George in my dreams, maybe our love will be confined to a world of make-believe and memories in my head. I cannot miss one moment with him, not now that things are so uncertain, when he could be exiled and separated from me while I am trapped here by my husband, unable to join him. When worse things could happen to him.

_I don't wanna miss one smile  
>I don't wanna miss one kiss<br>Well, I just wanna be with you  
>Right here with you, just like this<br>I just wanna hold you close  
>Feel your heart so close to mine<br>And stay here in this moment  
>For all the rest of time<em>

I think about his smile – his teeth, shiny and white and just that tiny bit crooked. He has different smiles – he has his polite court smile and he has his smile reserved only for me. He smiles when he writes poetry for me, and when he sees me walk into a room. He smiles when he is giving me gifts, and when I say something to make him laugh. He smiles when we dance together, and he smiles especially when he can see that I am dancing for him and only for him. I think about his kisses, too, and how sometimes he will kiss me with love and compassion and other times with such a fierce and burning passion. I think about how I rarely am able to sleep unless I am wrapped in his arms, with the feel of his warm body pressed against me and his strong arms draped over my shoulders or around my waist. I think about other things, too, other times, other memories that sometimes make me blush with embarrassment at some of the things I am prepared to do for him.

_Don't wanna close my eyes  
>Don't wanna fall asleep<br>'Cause I'd miss you, babe  
>And I don't wanna miss a thing<br>'Cause even when I dream of you  
>The sweetest dream will never do<br>'Cause I'd still miss you, babe  
>And I don't wanna miss a thing<em>

I will not lose him , I will not lose what we have. We have built a life for ourselves that should be impossible in this day and age, a small haven of true love and family in a world where those things are often dictated by others. If we can manage that , then we can manage to stay together.

_I don't wanna close my eyes  
>I don't wanna fall asleep<br>'Cause I'd miss you, babe  
>And I don't wanna miss a thing<br>'Cause even when I dream of you  
>The sweetest dream will never do<br>I'd still miss you, babe  
>And I don't wanna miss a thing<em>

George stirs, opens one eye lazily.

"You still awake?" he asks, sleepily disbelieving, reaching out to stroke my hair and pull it gently through his fingers. I nod, suddenly sleepy myself.

"Get some sleep" he suggest gently, smiling dopily at me. I laugh, and it turns into a yawn. He closes his eyes once more.

_Don't wanna close my eyes  
>Don't wanna fall asleep, yeah<br>I don't wanna miss a thing_

Even as I fight to keep my eyes open, not wanting to lose this, they start to slowly close, until I too am asleep, and our hearts beat to the same slow, gentle rhythm, and I smile and dream of him.


	34. Neutron Star Collision

**A/N: Hey, GreenField again. This is a songfic for George Boleyn and Elizabeth, my OC. You're probably getting a bit sick of her by now. Anyway, this is set after George's death to the song Neutron Star Collision by Muse. It's so perfect for them.**

_I was searching  
>You were on a mission<br>Then our hearts combined like  
>A neutron star collision<em>

Elizabeth woke from a fitful sleep and reached out to the side of the bed that had so often been occupied by George, even though she knew that he could not possibly be there, that he never would be again. She stifled a sob, pressing her hand to her mouth to silence her tears. That very morning the axe had swung down and cut off his beautiful head, and he would never hold her again.

She remembered the first time they had become reacquainted at court. She, young and hopeless and naive, searching desperately for a love that was long lost. Him, young and handsome and far too clever, looking for his next whore. He hadn't expected, however, to fall in love with her, to never take another whore but her ever again.

_I have nothing left to lose  
>You took your time to choose<br>Then we told each other  
>With no trace of fear that...<em>

_Our love would be forever  
>And if we die<br>We die together  
>And lie, I said never<br>'Cause our love would be forever_

Oh, how well she remembered the day that they had declared their love for each other. Alone in that tiny little room that had been hers and Aurora's at the time. How they had known right from that moment that no matter who came along, there would never be anyone else. How, when he had kissed her for the first time, her heart had exploded into thousands of tiny pieces, overflowing with love and lust.

_The world is broken  
>Halo's fail to glisten<br>You try to make a difference  
>But no one wants to listen<em>

She tried so hard to save him, Hell, she even stood up in court for him, let everyone know that she was his whore and she loved him, damn the consequences. She tried so much, and no-one would listen. She begged Cromwell, she fought for his life until the moment that axe ended it.

_Hail,  
>The preachers, fake and proud<br>Their doctrines will be cloud?  
>Then they'll dissipate<br>Like snowflakes in an ocean_

It wasn't just her that needed him. What about the reformation, the reformation that he and Anne had designed, the reformation that she, too, had so longed for? Without them, Henry would weaken under Jane Seymour's Catholic influence. Their hard work would be for nothing, his hard work would no longer matter.

_Love is forever  
>And we'll die, we'll die together<br>And lie, I say never  
>'Cause our love could be forever<em>

She always said that she would die without him. But what of her children, her two beautiful daughters and the son she carried in her belly?

_Now I've got nothing left to lose  
>You take your time to choose<br>I can tell you now without a trace of fear_

_That my love will be forever  
>and we'll die<br>we'll die together  
>Lie, I will never<br>'Cause our love will be forever_

But, in reality, she had died with him. Her heart was dead, her soul was dead, and what was she without her heart and soul? A corpse, a walking corpse, alone, destined to live on in this hell without him, destined never to love again.

"Oh, George" Elizabeth whispered, sniffling into her pillow, staining the linen with her tears, "I love you"


	35. Just the Way You Are

**A/N:Me again. I love this song, so much, and I thought it would be perfect for George's thoughts on Elizabeth. Just the way you are by Bruno Mars. Please read and review!**

_Oh her eyes, her eyes  
>Make the stars look like they're not shining<br>Her hair, her hair  
>Falls perfectly without her trying<em>

Elizabeth rose from the bed and pulled a robe around her naked body, darting a quick glance towards George, thinking that he was sleeping. He was not – he was simply watching her, silently, in the darkness. She pulled out a little dark wood trunk from under the bed and sat cross-legged at the end of the bed, leaning over the box. Her blue eyes glittered with satisfaction and slight exhaustion in the weak candlelight, sparkling with love when she glanced once more at his perfectly still form. Her checking on him made him more determined to watch her and see what she was doing. Besides, he wanted to know what was in the box. As she sat, her hair rolled down her back in a red-brown wave. She grew impatient with it and pinned it up messily.

_She's so beautiful  
>And I tell her every day<br>Yeah I know, I know  
>When I compliment her<br>She won't believe me  
>And its so, it's so<br>Sad to think she don't see what I see_

He wondered why she always denied it when he told her that she was beautiful. He whispered it to her every night before they slept, and she always just rolled her eyes and turned away from him, not believing that he was telling the truth.

She opened the box with her nimble fingers, leaning over it protectively, though he could still see. It was a warm night, and she had obviously noticed – checking once again that George was 'asleep', she shrugged out of the robe and sat there in the golden light, completely naked. George had to stop himself from grabbing her and letting her know that he most certainly was awake.

_But every time she asks me do I look okay  
>I say<br>When I see your face  
>There's not a thing that I would change<br>Cause you're amazing  
>Just the way you are<br>And when you smile,  
>The whole world stops and stares for awhile<br>Cause girl you're amazing  
>Just the way you are<em>

The smile on her face was stunning as she lifted a stack of parchment from the box. She flipped through the notes, her cheeks flushed with warmth and her eyebrows raised as if what she was reading was a pleasant shock to her, even though she had obviously read it many times. She put the papers to one side and George recognised his own signature at the bottom of the page. She had kept all the letters that he had ever sent her. He smiled.

_Her lips, her lips  
>I could kiss them all day if she'd let me<br>Her laugh, her laugh  
>She hates but I think its so sexy<em>

Her lips, the colour of crimson blood, were still set in a warm smile as she continued to pull things out of the box – a golden mask, a sash from a masquerade. He studied her smiling mouth hungrily, remembering the taste of them, sweet as honey, and the softness of them, like the skin of a peach. As she pulled out another item she laughed softly, a mere echo of her usual laugh, like the pealing of bells, which she always tried to cover up. He himself suppressed a laugh when he saw the white feather that she had pulled out, from the mask she had worn in Calais.

_She's so beautiful  
>And I tell her every day<br>Oh you know, you know, you know  
>I'd never ask you to change<br>If perfect is what you're searching for  
>Then just stay the same<em>

She was all he could have ever wanted, and so much more. She expressed a glow that kept his eyes always on her, his mind always thinking of her, his heart aching over her. Elizabeth shifted her position and laid on her belly, so that she was far too close to him, wonderfully so. She found the seal of office from the King that he had given her on her first day of court, when she so desperately wanted to know anything and everything about Bluff King Hal and court life. Her skin glowed pale and luminous as the moon while she studied the seal, then put that, too, to one side.

_So don't even bother asking  
>If you look okay<br>You know I say  
>When I see your face<br>There's not a thing that I would change  
>Cause you're amazing<br>Just the way you are  
>And when you smile,<br>The whole world stops and stares for awhile  
>Cause girl you're amazing<br>Just the way you are_

It amazed George, even now, that she was his, all his, and that she had fallen for him as deeply as he had for her. He had seen the way that men looked at her, how much they wanted her, and could only be grateful that he had gotten there first. For a woman so desirable, she had never seemed to desire any other man.

She yawned, obviously exhausted, and decided to look at the rest of the box's contents another time. As she put the items back into the box, George saw that a few of the tips of her nails were caked slightly in his blood. His back and chest were still stinging from her scratches, but somehow it only made him love and want her more.

_The way you are  
>The way you are<br>Girl you're amazing  
>Just the way you are<em>

"Elizabeth?" he whispered at last, his voice small from being unused for so long. She jumped, her eyes widening.

"Heavens, you startled me! Have you been awake for long?" she did not sound as if it would bother her too much if he had, but he thought that she might like the idea of her box being private from him. So he shook his head.

"No, not long at all. You must be tired. Come to bed" he pulled back the sheets for her and she smiled, settling in beside him.

"You must be tired, too" she offered with a mischievous smile, running her fingers over his lips, "I definitely am. I ache all over"

"Then you definitely want to sleep?"

She sensed the disappointment in his voice and weakened for a moment. Then she strengthened her resolve.

"Yes" she said, giggling, "I think you have had enough for tonight"

She snuggled against him and closed her eyes. He drank in the sight of her one last time before he fell asleep.

_When I see your face  
>There's not a thing that I would change<br>Cause you're amazing  
>Just the way you are<br>And when you smile,  
>The whole world stops and stares for awhile<br>Cause girl you're amazing  
>Just the way you are<em>


	36. Always a Woman

**A/N: Me again, but this is the last one for now, honest! Another George and Elizabeth. Please review!**

_She can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes  
>She can ruin your faith with her casual lies<br>And she only reveals what she wants you to see  
>She hides like a child, but she's always a woman to me<em>

His memories of Elizabeth could sustain him a lifetime. George considered this as he sat alone in the Tower. The loneliness was driving him insane, making his thoughts spin and whirr uselessly inside his head. He wanted company; he wanted Elizabeth. They had rarely ever spent a night apart, and he longed for her now more than ever.

But she could not come. So he conjured her, like a magician, like a witch, from his memory. His Elizabeth.

He recalled the first time that she had smiled at him after their five years apart, making him fall in love with her all over again. She had stepped down from her carriage and smiled the smile that could start a war, and he had melted. Her bright eyes had widened, almost imperceptibly, at the sight of him, and although she would not admit it for another whole year, he had known on that day that she loved him too. She had changed him for the better, he knew that, and he admired her for it. He could still remember the light in her eyes that day she had handed him her ill-gotten copy of William Tyndale's New Testament and told him that she was a heretic. Within days, he was one too. She had always had an influence over him, even when they were children playing hide and seek in the fields of Hever.

_She can lead you to love, she can take you or leave you_  
><em>She can ask for the truth, but she'll never believe you<em>  
><em>And she'll take what you give her as long it's free<em>  
><em>Yeah, She steals like a thief, but she's always a woman to me<em>

He loved her so much, and after tomorrow he would never see her again. His beautiful rose, his angel, his jewel. He recalled all the times that she had rejected such nicknames, calling them silly. He knew that it was really because it embarrassed her, so he did it more often, their secret notes to each other becoming so flamboyant that eventually a whole page of parchment could be filled when only a simple yes or no had been required. He remembered her once inquiring as to whether he had ever called another woman such names, and how surprised and sceptical she was when he replied with a no. She only relented after he spent hours persuading her that night in bed, until she screamed her forgiveness with her nails clawing at his chest.

_Ohhh... she takes care of herself  
>She can wait if she wants, she's ahead of her time<br>Ohhh... and she never gives out  
>And she never gives in, she just changes her mind<em>

He thought that maybe in the future – maybe when his little niece Elizabeth was Queen of England – all women would be like his Elizabeth. All women would one day be clever and witty and sparkling and beautiful. All women would stand their ground and fight back whenever something angered them or hurt them, and maybe one day women would learn to protect themselves more from harm – the one thing his Elizabeth had never achieved.

_And she'll promise you more than the garden of Eden_  
><em>Then she'll carelessly cut you and laugh while you're bleeding<em>  
><em>But she'll bring out the best and the worst you can be<em>  
><em>Blame it all on yourself 'cause she's always a woman to me<em>

During the year that he had wanted her, desired her, dreamed of taking her every night for the rest of his life, she had seemed like an exotic flower straight from the garden of Eden. With most women, after the chase, they became dull and wifely. But not his Elizabeth. She was even more exotic than he had expected, she was bold and fierce and completely shameless. She had bought out the animal in him, and, more surprisingly, the poet and the romantic. Of course they argued, what self-respecting couple did not? But they could never be angry for long. They loved each other too much to be angry for long.

God, he was going to miss her.

_Ohhh... she takes care of herself  
>She can wait if she wants, she's ahead of her time<br>Ohhh... and she never gives out  
>And she never gives in, she just changes her mind<em>

_She's frequently kind and she's suddenly cruel_  
><em>She can do as she pleases, she's nobody's fool<em>  
><em>And she can't be convicted, she's earned her degree<em>  
><em>And the most she will do is throw shadows at you,<em>  
><em>But she's always a woman to me<em>


	37. All For One

**A/N: All for One by Blackmore's Night, for Mary, Anne and George Boleyn. By Lady Eleanor Boleyn. It's amazing, so please review!**

**When we drink we'll drink together, not alone!  
>We'll drink together<br>And when we drink we'll drink together, not alone!  
>All For One, and One For All!<br>We'll drink together  
>And when we drink we'll drink together, not alone!<br>All For One, and One For All!  
>We'll drink together<br>And when we drink we'll drink together, not alone!**

"Thomas, you do have fine children. You must be very proud of them."

"Proud indeed. They're the hope of the future."

"That they are. Have you plans for them?"

"Of course, brother. It's high time they learnt to do their duty. I'll take George back to Court with me this summer and I've just secured the girls places at foreign Courts. Mary is to go to France and serve Queen Claude and Anne to the Archduchess."

"Archduchess Margaret?"

"The very same. I hope for her to go on to the Duchess of Alencon's household afterwards."

"You have ambitions indeed, Thomas. Anne's barely seven. Still such a girl."

"A clever, charming child. She'll do well there. No, brother. I have decided. To Brussels she shall go."

Nine year old George Boleyn didn't need to hear any more. Racing away before he got caught, he ran out into the gardens and found his sisters as they played under the ever watchful eye of their governess Simonette.

"Mary! Anne! You'll never believe what I've just heard!"

"What? George, what is it?"

"Papa's got plans for us. I'm to go to Court, and you're for France, Mary. Queen Claude's household."

Mary nodded, trying not to show that she was nervous. At ten years old, she was the eldest of the three Boleyn children and had always known that this day would come. But she was nervous. She wasn't bold and curious like Anne. Seven year old Anne, who even now, was tugging at George's sleeve, bouncing excitedly.

"What about me? George, what about me?"

George looked down at his little sister and ruffled her hair affectionately. "You're going to Austria first, Annie. Austria with the Archduchess Margaret and then maybe France to the Duchess of Alencon. Papa doesn't know yet."

Anne beamed, but Mary looked unsure. "So, we'll all be in different places? You, me, Annie?"

"Yes."

"But we're the Three Boleyns. We always have been. We swore we always would be. How are we meant to be the Three Boleyns if we're all in different places?"

"We will be. Just because we're apart doesn't mean we won't be the Three Boleyns. Look, come here."

George put his hand on Mary's arm and led her over to the stream. Throwing himself down on the bank, he beckoned imperiously for a tumbler. He filled it to the brim and then turned back to his sisters, his hand clenched on the base of the tumbler.

"Put your hand over mine, Mary. And Annie, you too. Put your hand over Mary's."

George waited until his sisters had done as he asked of them before continuing, "I, George Boleyn, vow to you, both of you, that we will always be the Three Boleyns. Do you, Mary Boleyn, also vow the same?"

A tentative smile came to Mary's lips as she nodded. "I do vow the same, George."

"And you, Anne Boleyn? Do you also vow the same?"

"I do," Anne agreed, grinning at her brother.

"In which case, Ladies, let's drink to the Three Boleyns!"

"The Three Boleyns!" Mary and Anne echoed their brother's toast and then the three of them bent their heads to the tumbler, lips nudging each other's as, half-laughing, they drank their fill and drank to themselves; drank to the Three Boleyns.

**We'll sing together  
>And when we sing we'll sing together, not alone!<br>We'll sing together  
>And when we sing we'll sing together, not alone!<br>All For One, and One For All!  
>We'll sing together<br>And when we sing we'll sing together, not alone!  
>All For One, and One For All!<br>We'll sing together  
>And when we sing we'll sing together, not alone!<strong>

Nine years had passed since then and now they were back together again. Back together again; reunited as the Three Boleyns. Mary, nineteen and married to Sir William Carey, a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber. George, eighteen, one of His Majesty's near constant companions. Anne, a bewitching young woman of sixteen, who, in her role of the Dowager Queen of France's companion, glittered alongside her mistress at the centre of this young and golden Court.

They were the ones everyone wanted to be; the ones everyone sought out, the ones everyone envied. And they were also the ones playing for His Majesty that night, that fateful night. The night Anne first caught His Majesty's eye.

"_Shall we sing the old song? The song Papa taught us as children?" George murmured. Anne nodded and Mary followed suit. "Of course, brother. It was our song, was it not? The song of the Three Boleyns."_

_Strumming his lute, George sensed his sisters arrange themselves on either side of him and then, just a second later, Mary's rich alto voice soared out,_

"_By a bank as I lay__**  
><strong>__Musing on a thing that was__**  
><strong>__Past and gone, Height-ho!"_

_Then she softened, falling back to sing the accompanying melody alongside George as Anne, with her pure soprano voice climbed to first meet and then surpass them as she sang,__**  
><strong>__"In the merry month of May,__**  
><strong>__Oh! Somewhat before the day__**  
><strong>__Methought I heard at the last."___

___As the last verse approached, George eased up on the strings of the lute and, just as he had done a thousand times before, met his sisters' eyes as he merged his voice with theirs._

"_Oh, for joy my spirits were quick__**  
><strong>__To hear the bird, how merrily she could sing.__**  
><strong>__And I said, Good Lord defend__**  
><strong>__England, with thy most holy hand,__**  
><strong>__And save noble Henry, our king."_

_The three of them sang together, looking deep into each other's eyes, as though there was no one else in the room. And indeed, it almost felt like there wasn't. King and Court melted away and it felt like there was no one but them there. No one save the Three Boleyns._

_When the last note lingered and died away and their audience burst into applause, it was a shock. They looked at one another for a moment and then joined hands to sink into bows and curtsies; reverent as always towards their King. As they paid him respect, however, George made sure to squeeze his sisters' hands and was relieved to feel them squeezing back. All the years hadn't made any difference. They were still the Three Boleyns. They were still the Three Boleyns and they always would be._

**We'll fight together  
>And when we fight we'll fight together, not alone!<br>We'll fight together  
>And when we fight we'll fight together, not alone!<br>All For One, and One For All!  
>We'll fight together<br>And when we fight we'll fight together, not alone!  
>All For One, and One For All!<br>We'll fight together  
>And when we fight we'll fight together, not alone!<br>**

That was three years earlier, and now King Henry was doing everything within his power to make George's baby sister his wife. But he wasn't getting anywhere. It wasn't enough. Queen Katherine had decided she was going to fight the annulment, and, with the Holy Roman Emperor on her side, not even King Henry had the power to overrule her. She had just proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. She had just walked out in contempt of the legatine court at Blackfriars.

"She'll be the end of me!" Anne wept angrily. "She'll be the end of me or I'll be the end of her!"

"You'll be the end of her," Mary assured her, stroking her back tenderly. "You'll be the end of her, Anne, because you're younger, prettier and more confident. You're everything King Henry desires and everything she is not. You'll be the one to give Henry a son, not her. I'm sure of it."

"But what if she holds out? What if Henry tires of me, as she's hoping he will? As everyone's hoping he will? I'm not a fool, I know she still thinks of him as her little boy. She still thinks he'll come back to her one day."

"Then she's the fool." George, who had been watching Queen Katherine's defiant march from the courtroom, suddenly turned back to his sisters and laid his hand over Mary's, reassuring Anne with the warmth of his touch. "She's the fool. Henry isn't her little boy anymore. I think he's proved that now. He'll never go back to her. Never."

"But will he come to me? George, will he come to me, if he won't go to her?"

"We'll make sure of it. Whatever you may think, you're not in this alone, Anne. You're not just anyone. You're not a Bessie Blount, a nobody. You're Anne Boleyn. You're one of the Three Boleyns. The Three Boleyns stand together, remember. We always have. We'll stand together now. We'll stand together and we'll stand between Queen Katherine and the King. Henry will never forsake you; not as long as we Three Boleyns stand together. I promise. I promise."

Stretching out his arms, George caught both his sisters in the warmth of his embrace, whispering the words they had always said in unison as children. "Vivat Henricus Rex, Vivat Anglia et Vivat Maria, Giorgio et Anna! Vivat the Three Boleyns!"

"Vivat the Three Boleyns!" Mary chorused softly, nudging Anne slightly. Managing a watery smile, Anne nodded and drew herself up. "Aye. Vivat the Three Boleyns!"

George beamed back at her. The words had never failed to make Anne smile, not even as a little girl. Unable to say any more for fear of disturbing the court proceedings, he bowed deeply from the waist and extended his arms to his sisters. They fell into step beside him, Anne on his right, Mary on his left, and the three of them left Blackfriars as though they already ran the country.

**We'll fall together  
>And when we fall we'll fall together, not alone!<br>We'll fall together  
>And when we fall we'll fall together, not alone!<br>All For One, and One For All!  
>We'll fall together<br>And when we fall we'll fall together, not alone!  
>All For One, and One For All!<br>We'll fall together  
>And when we fall we'll fall together, not alone!<strong>

And then it all started to go wrong. Oh, Anne promised the King a son and became Queen on the strength of that promise, all right, but then she went into childbed. Went into childbed and delivered a beautiful healthy child. A beautiful healthy…daughter. The long-awaited Prince of Wales wasn't a Prince at all. He was a Princess.

"What do we do now, George?" Mary asked, as the two of them stood by Anne's bed, watching her sleep; sleep the sleep of the mentally and physically exhausted. "What do we do now?"

"Mary Boleyn, I can't believe you're even asking that. We do exactly what we've always done. We fight. We fight until there's nothing left in us. We get Anne back into the King's bed, and we let him get her pregnant again. Pregnant with a son. Meanwhile, we make sure we act every inch the royalty we are; because if we don't believe it, no one else will."

"And if we can't get Anne back into His Majesty's bed? If he's tired of her, now that she's failed to deliver on her promise? What then?"

George shrugged, "Then we fall. Anne falls and we fall with her. Every last one of us. But we won't fall, Mary. I know we won't."

"How? How can you be so sure?"

George shrugged again and came to stand behind her, cradling the infant Princess Elizabeth's head in his hand. "We're the Three Boleyns, Mary. We've ruled this court since Anne was sixteen. That's nine years ago. Don't you think we'd have fallen by now, if we were going to fall? No, sister. We'll not fall. We can't fall. We're the Three Boleyns. We just can't fall."


	38. Yellow

**A/N: Hey, it's GreenField here. Sorry, all I seem to be able to write for this at the moment is George and Elizabeth! Hope you don't mind. Song is Yellow by Coldplay. Please review! Flashbacks in italics.**

_**Look at the stars  
>Look how they shine for you<br>And everything you do  
>Yeah they were all yellow<strong>_

"I don't like seeing you cry" George said gently, putting his arm around his lover. She rested her head on his shoulder and did not make a reply. She had been silent and tearful for well over a fortnight now, since she miscarried of their child, and he was genuinely worried about her. Of course, he had been greatly upset by the horrendous accident that had caused their unborn child to depart this life, but he took comfort in the fact that Elizabeth herself was well and healthy, and so were their two beautiful daughters. Elizabeth, however, did not take this view.

"Come on" he urged, rising from his seat on the edge of her bed and taking her hand. She stayed stubbornly still.

"I'm not in the mood, George" she mumbled at last, her voice void of all emotion. George tugged her hand a little harder and, after giving him a fierce glare, she allowed him to draw her towards the window, where they sat together. Stars hung glittering on the black cloak of night, only a few wisps of grey cloud ruining this otherwise perfect view. George put his arm around Elizabeth and pointed at the sparkling pattern in the sky.

"Look at the stars" he murmured, "They're shining for you, you know. To give you comfort and guidance"

"Don't be stupid" Elizabeth huffed, but her eyes were fixed on the stars he spoke of, "Why would they shine for me?"

George smiled to himself.

"They are! They're shining because of all the wonderful, beautiful, brilliant things that you do. They want you to be that person again. They want you to smile again"

"You are a dolt" she retorted, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Me?" George cried in protest, and laughed, "You're a dolt if you don't believe what I'm telling you" he paused, "You know what else those stars represent?"

"Go on" she rolled her eyes, but she was quite clearly enchanted.

"All the good times that we've had together. You look how many stars there are. Those good times far outweigh the bad"

"Like what?" she was smiling now, obviously keen to see what he remembered.

"Like the time I wrote the song about you. For you"

_**I came along  
>I wrote a song for you<br>And all the things you do  
>And it was called yellow<strong>_

_Elizabeth was fourteen years old, seated in the nursery at Hever. George was there for the Summer, a rare occurrence, and while she had been writing letters to Anne and Mary, George had been scribbling something else in a corner, strumming on his lute every so often. Their eyes connected across the room every so often, and Elizabeth was smiling to herself. She was sure that he was falling in love with you._

"_Do you want to hear a tune, Elizabeth?" George asked eventually, "I believe it will be popular at court"_

"_Go on" Elizabeth agreed archly, swinging round in her chair to face him and resting her head on her hands. He was shuffling self-consciously as he sat before her. His eyes fixed on her as he sang in his handsome, melodic voice._

"_The yellow sun, it shines upon, the ground where you do lay...and in the night, the stars they bloom, beneath the moonbeam ray...and in your eyes, the waves they roll, a dance upon the sea...and when these eyes, these tender eyes, look upon my own...I wonder why, I long to know, when will you love me?"_

Elizabeth grinned, "Yes, I do recall. It was a lovely song"

"It was terrible" George countered, pleased that he had made her smile. Her gaze grew distant as she looked once again at the stars.

"What else?"

George mused for a moment, "Hm. The night I realised that I loved you"

_**So then I took my turn  
>Oh what a thing to have done<br>And it was all yellow**_

_**Your skin**_  
><em><strong>Oh yeah your skin and bones<strong>_  
><em><strong>Turn into something beautiful<strong>_  
><em><strong>You know you know I love you so<strong>_  
><em><strong>You know I love you so<strong>_

_Elizabeth kissed Mary's cheek for what felt like the millionth time, "I am so glad to see you home at last! Isn't it wonderful, George?"_

"_Wonderful" George agreed. His eyes were fixed not on his sister, but on Elizabeth, who was dressed stunningly that evening. There was a small gathering at Hever castle to celebrate Mary's betrothal now she was returned from France, and Elizabeth had obviously dressed to impress. She was wearing a bright yellow gown, and little jewels glittered in her lobes and around her neck. She wore a string of yellow topaz stones around the top of her head, which looked beautiful with her red hair._

_Mary was asked to dance by William, and as George made to ask Elizabeth to dance, she shook her head._

"_No. I know you're about to ask me to dance, and I don't want to. Let's go outside. It's ever so hot in here" she took his hand and led him out into the gardens. It was Winter, and outside it was terribly cool, but Elizabeth was still fanning herself. She turned to look at George with an inquiring smile._

"_Come on" she said and, with an irresistible giggle, pulled him towards the water fountain, and dived in._

"_Elizabeth!" George cried, horrified, "Your lovely gown! And you'll catch a chill"_

"_You sound like Semmonet" she laughed, poking back up from under the water and shaking her head. Droplets of the cool water splashed George's doublet. He looked at her, exasperated._

"_We'll never be able to go back inside now" he scolded. She grinned, standing up in the water. He froze, staring at her._

"_Do you care?" she asked, dripping water. In that moment, George thought that he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. _

_Elizabeth's hair was dark with the wet, plastered to her face, showing off the pretty roundness of her face. She was smiling, eyes dancing, and her topaz headdress had slipped over one eyes. She took it off and flung it at him, but he was struck dumb by the sight of her and didn't have the wit to catch it. The yellow jewels glinted on the grass and her yellow gown clung to every inch of her body. All of her skin and bone was completely visible, and she knew it._

"I didn't know! I wasn't being deliberately provocative!" Elizabeth protested, half-laughing. George raised his eyebrows.

"Yes you were. And I fell in love with you right then and there"

"Oh" she sighed and leaned against his shoulder, "One more?"

"Fine" he agreed reluctantly, "When I saved you from drowning?"

"I was not drowning!"

"You certainly weren't swimming"

_**I swam across  
>I jumped across for you<br>Oh what a thing to do**_

_**Cause you were all yellow**_  
><em><strong>I drew a line<strong>_  
><em><strong>I drew a line for you<strong>_  
><em><strong>Oh what a thing to do<strong>_  
><em><strong>And it was all yellow<strong>_

_She hadn't meant to get that close to the lake. She knew it was deep, she'd just wanted to look. The way the yellow sun danced across the water had looked so appealing; pity it had rained and the bank was muddy. She skidded into the icy water before she had time to stop herself. Legs flailing as she struggled to the ledge, she felt strands of seaweed tangle around her. She screamed._

_And then George appeared, her knight in shining armour. _

"_Elizabeth!" he cried, "Can you get out?"_

"_Would I be screaming if I could get out?" she roared back. George had a momentary urge to laugh before he jumped in the water and swam swiftly and strongly towards her from the other side of the lake, dislodging seaweed as he went. He came to her easily, and she was laughing tearfully by this point._

"_I bet you think I'm a right idiot, getting so upset by some water" he had his arms around her waist, kicking his legs to keep them afloat. They were ridiculously close. _

"_I don't" he mumbled in reply. Her lips were mere inches away as she whispered;_

"_Thank you"._

_**Your skin  
>Oh yeah your skin and bones<br>Turn into something beautiful  
>And you know<br>For you I'd bleed myself dry  
>For you I'd bleed myself dry<strong>_

Elizabeth turned and kissed him, and he could no longer see any trace of tears.

"Thank you" she whispered, just as she had done so long ago, "I think you just saved me from drowning again"

"I love you so much" he murmured, looking at her closely, her beautiful body illuminated in the yellow starlight. Their lips touched again in a burst of stars.

"I love you too" she replied.

_**It's true  
>Look how they shine for you<br>Look how they shine for you  
>Look how they shine for<br>Look how they shine for you  
>Look how they shine for you<br>Look how they shine**_

_**Look at the stars  
>Look how they shine for you<br>And all the things that you do**_


	39. Perfect

_**A/N: Perfect by Fairground Attractions, Mary, Queen of Scots. By Lady Eleanor Boleyn. Please review to thank her for her awesomeness.**_

**Don't want half-hearted love affairs  
>I need someone who really cares.<br>Life is too short to play silly games  
>I've promised myself I won't do that again.<strong>

Mary, Queen of Scotland and the Isles and Dowager Queen of France, stood at the altar, smiling nervously beneath her veil of silver gauze. Her soon to be husband, James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, took her hand and squeezed it gently.

"It's fine, Your Majesty. It's all going to be fine," he assured her in a whisper. Mary nodded, wishing she could believe him. But her heart was crying out for more than fine. Her heart was crying out for perfect. Her heart was crying out for the kind of love she truly believed she could have had with her darling Francis, had he not been so sickly; not been so like a brother to her.

But she couldn't have that. She had a country to rule and an infant son to protect. She couldn't afford to be sentimental, to follow her heart. It was those kinds of games that everyone expected of her, because she was a woman, because she was a Catholic raised in the licentious French Court, because she was beautiful. She couldn't afford to play them. She couldn't afford to be seen as a temptress, as a vain, flirty, empty-headed girl. She had to be seen to be a Queen; to have her country under control.

**It's got to be perfect  
>It's got to be worth it<br>Yeah.  
>Too many people take second best<strong>

**But I won't take anything less**  
><strong>It's got to be<strong>  
><strong>Yeah<strong>  
><strong>Perfect.<strong>

She and Francis would have been able to play those games, Mary was sure, had they only lived in Scotland and not France, for they had been so in love as children. She had been his darling Marie, the one he could never get enough of. He had been her Francis, her wonderful, wonderful Francis. But they had just been children. They'd been young, so young. And he had been so fragile and so determined to do his duty, even when it cost him his health. She had always had to protect him; protect him from himself, from the Court, from his mother, Queen Catherine de Medici.

God, that woman! She'd been spiteful, ruthless, driven by naught by ambition. It was hardly surprising that her husband, Mary's beloved father, King Henri, had preferred the company of his mistress, Diane de Poitiers. Though, Mary had to admit that it hadn't exactly presented the most united front and right now, that was what her country needed. Not disunity, not complete felicity, but above all, not passion. That was what Scotland, if not Mary herself, would call a perfect marriage.

**Young hearts are foolish  
>They make such mistakes<br>They're much too eager to give their love away.  
>Well<br>I have been foolish too many times**

**Now I'm determined I'm gonna get it right.**

Oh, Mary had had her share of passion in her time. Her second husband, Henry, Lord Darnley, had been her greatest passion and her greatest folly. She'd married him for love and look where it had got her.

He'd been charming enough in public, true, which was she'd fallen for him at all, but in private, he'd been selfish, greedy and poisoned by ambition. He'd made her grant him the title "King of Scots", just as she was "Queen of Scots" and insisted that, because he was her husband, he deserved the lion's share of their power, not her. He'd tried to take her power from her; her, God's anointed Queen!

To give Henry his due, he had at least managed to do what Francis had not and got her pregnant. He had given her an heir, her infant son, James, Duke of Rothesay, or Jamie as Mary called him, who was now almost a year old, and as bonny a babe as any mother could wish for. But even his lusty wails and strong kicks weren't enough for Mary to be able to reconcile herself with his father. He was too jealous for that. By the Virgin, he'd even killed her own Secretary before her very eyes, whilst she was pregnant, even though it could have caused her to miscarry, just because he was jealous of her friendship with the poor man!

Mary prayed that God would understand and forgive her, but she hadn't been able to quash an overriding sense of relief when she had heard of Darnley's death. And now, just months later, she stood before the altar with his likely murderer, James, Earl of Bothwell. Most would condemn for this, Mary knew, but she couldn't help herself. She might not love the man, the way she had loved her first husband, Francis, or even her Henry, who had turned against her so quickly, but at least he was strong. At least he could help her bring her country under control. At least, if the worst came to the worst, and she died before Jamie became a man, he could help her son become the great King that Mary knew he would be. The King who could unite England and Scotland under one rule and rule both halves of this island, as no man or woman had ever done before him.

"_Yes"_, Mary assured herself, _"I'm doing the right thing. The right thing by my country."  
><em>That thought in mind, she turned her attention to the priest who stood before her and began to take part in the service that would unite her in marriage with James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell.

**It's got to be perfect**

**Young hearts are foolish**  
><strong>They make such mistakes<strong>

**It's got to be perfect**

**It's got to be  
>Yeah<br>Worth it  
>It's got to be perfect.<strong>


	40. The Clock Ticks On

_AN: An unrequited Henry/KOA to The Clock Ticks On by Blackmore's Night. Starts in 1510, then flashes forward to after Mary's birth. Sorry to any KOA/Henry fans...I will do a happy one someday. I promise. For now, enjoy and please R and R! By Lady Eleanor Boleyn._

**As the wind chimes play along the breeze  
>Singing songs to stir the soul,<br>Rainbow colours entwined in fairytales  
>On the maypole...<strong>

Katherine of Aragon, England's new Queen, twirled under her young husband's careful hand, laughing as her hair, freed from the confines of her gable hood by the exertion, swung out around her, the bright auburn ringlets mixing with the fluttering ribbons of red and white, green and blue, silver and gold that were hanging from the Maypole.

To look at her, one might have thought that Katherine was the happiest of all the women there. Unless one knew, one would never have guessed that all her smiles, all her high, pealing laughs, were forced; that her boyish husband wasn't the fair knight who held her heart in the palm of his hand.

**Sing the songs of lands from far away,  
>Other times and another place,<br>The wind can carry us all away from here  
>Charmed in her embrace...<strong>

"Harry, Harry, stop!" Katherine pleaded, laughing breathlessly, "I can't dance anymore. I can't!"

"Oh, but, Katherine. Catalina! We've barely started!"

"It doesn't feel like that!" Katherine panted, dragging her husband to a halt. "Come on, I'll sing for you instead, if you like."

Henry hesitated, but, not wanting to spoil this, his first May Day as King with a Queen at his side by having such a petty argument, reluctantly agreed. "We'll rest for a while," he conceded, snapping his fingers at the musicians to stop and calling to a page boy, "Bring the Queen her lute."

Swinging his own cloak off his shoulders, he spread it out underneath a tree and helped Katherine to sit down on it.

"There, Cata. Are you comfortable?"

"Yes, thank you," Katherine smiled up at him, trying to hide her distaste for the way her nickname sounded on his lips. She tuned her lute, running her fingers over the strings, fighting her own memories, wishing she could forget the last time she had sung the song she was about to play. The night she had sung it for her _real_ husband, Prince Arthur of Wales.

Locking her eyes with Harry''s, she forced herself to focus soley on his merry blue eyes; to forget, even if only briefly, the way a light grey gaze had once burned into hers just as eagerly as the blue one now did.

"_Forgive me, Arthur,"_ she pleaded in her thoughts and then began.

"_Paz en la tierra,__  
><em>_Paz y amor,__  
><em>_Que ya ha nacido el Rey,__  
><em>_Cantemos con el coro en los cielos,__  
><em>_Adoremos al nuevo Rey,__  
><em>_Adoremos al nuevo Rey,__  
><em>_Al santo Rey _

_Al nuevo Rey__  
><em>_Al santo Rey."_

Her voice was clear and true; for a moment, she could almost sense her sisters joining in, just as they had always done at home at the Alhambra, or at Court in Castile. As Maria and Francesca and all the other ladies had done when she sang this song for Arthur.

But her voice was too thin to maintain the fiction for long. With a jolt of disappointment, her eyes snapped open again. She wasn't in the warm gardens of the Alhambra. She wasn't the Infanta Catalina, her mother's youngest and favourite daughter. She wasn't even Katherine, Princess of Wales, safe at Ludlow as the future King Arthur's beloved new bride. Not anymore.

She was Queen Katherine of Aragon, wife to King Henry Tudor. She was sitting in the middle of the forest at Windsor and she was trying to survive in her place at the centre of a Court of wolves. If she was ever to do so, then no one – no one other than beloved, trusted Maria, at least – could ever learn her secret. She had better die first than betray herself like that.

**Leaves turn to red, the nights are getting colder,  
>Seasons will change, the clock ticks on...<br>Leaves fill the trees as the days are getting warmer,  
>Days turn to years, the clock ticks on...<strong>

Six years later, Katherine held her precious daughter, cradling the infant close and rejoicing in her lusty strength. Not for this one a life too short, snuffed out like a candle before either she or Harry were ready. This one would live, she was sure. She would be as fine a Queen for England as Katherine's own mother, Isabella, had been for Castile.

There were pounding footsteps and, all of a sudden, Harry burst into her lying-in chamber, crying out her name in exultation, "Cata!"

"Harry. We have a daughter. A beautiful, healthy daughter. Come and see her."

A shadow of disappointment crossed Harry's face; why couldn't she have been a boy?, but as Katherine coaxed, "Come," and held out the tiny babe to him, he yielded, stepping forward to take the child and dandle her in his arms as he stared down at her little face, mesmerised despite himself at her deep blue gaze.

"She's perfect. My perfect pearl."

"Aye, she's an angel straight from heaven, is she not?" Katherine agreed, smiling at the sight of the immediate bond that was so evident between father and daughter. Harry looked up at her words.

"Then let us name her for the Queen of Heaven. Let us name her Mary, for my sister."

"I'm sure Mary would be honoured," Katherine kept her voice soft and low, determined to show no sense of triumph at all.

Nonetheless, she had to admit that it was something of a relief when Harry placed the child back in the cradle and dropped a hasty kiss on both their foreheads, racing from the room to visit his youngest sister, who also lay in confinement, and deliver the news of so great an honour to her.

At least now she didn't have to pretend anymore; didn't have to pretend to be his devoted Queen.

**A cloak and dagger, no fear of freedom  
>When hearts beat in another time,<br>Ever changing, the clock ticks on,  
>If only in your mind...<strong>

"Oh, Arthur," she whispered. "If only you'd lived. If only I could have been your Queen instead. Things would have been different. Mary wouldn't be our only child. We would have had a whole nursery full of Princes and Princesses, I'm sure of it."

For a moment, Katherine closed her eyes and let herself imagine how many children she and Arthur would have had.

A boy first, of course, to secure the Succession. Maybe even two. They would have been Arthur and John, one named for his father, the other for Katherine's brother. Then the girls, three of them. Mary, for the Queen of Heaven, Margaret for Arthur's favourite sister and Isabella. Isabella for her grandmother. Isabella for the Queen of Castile. If they'd been lucky enough to be blessed with a fourth girl, she would have been Joanna, for Katherine's favourite sister, Juana. If a third son had come along, he would probably have been Edward or maybe Charles. They would have married; married well. One would have married into Scotland; Joanna probably. Then another would have been matched Imperially, Spain or Portugal. Arthur would have had his pick of the Princesses of Europe, while John could have married an Englishwoman, if he'd wanted. Katherine would never have stood in the way of true love. Not for a second son, anyway. Not for one who could never take the throne.

She and Arthur would have been the best King and Queen England could ever have asked for. They would have guided it through a Golden Age. They would have grown old together and handed over the reins of power to their eldest son upon the hour of Arthur's death. He would have died in his bed, not alone and stricken with the feverish shaking of the Sweat, but peacefully, surrounded by his children and grandchildren. Katherine would have been at his side. That was how it was supposed to have been.

That was how it could never be.

**The wind has died and the chimes are still again  
>The trees stand tall as they cover me in shade<br>In the mirror a maiden stares at me  
>As the secret fades...<strong>

Six weeks later, preparing to re-enter Court life after her cleansing Mass, Katherine stood before a mirror, watching as Maria tightened the laces on her purple damask gown. Purple for Lent and purple for Royalty. Diamonds sparkled around her throat and glistened in her hair and ears. She looked every inch the Queen.

For a second; the briefest of seconds, something flickered in the glass behind her reflection.

Katherine's heart leapt. Was it Arthur? After all this time, was it Arthur? Had he come back to her?

No. Of course not. He could never come back to her now. And God forbid anyone ever found out that she had loved him, loved him as any woman loves a man. That she had been a wife to him in truth as well as in name. She had lied about that because he had asked her to; because it had been his dying wish to see her crowned and anointed as Queen of England, even if it wasn't by his side.

She had married Harry with his blessing and one day, they would see each other again in God's blessed Kingdom. That thought was enough to sustain her. It would have to be enough.

Breathing a silent goodbye to her true husband, she walked out, burying those thoughts so deep inside her that even she barely knew where they were. Walked out to take her place beside Harry on the dais; walked out to play the role she had always been coached for. That of the one and only Queen Katherine of England.

**And though the clock ticks on to the future  
>It´s in the past my heart will stay<br>In a time so far from me  
>I´ll return someday...<strong>


	41. Sweet Sacrifice

**A/N: Hi! GreenField here – I felt bad that Lady Eleanor had uploaded a songfic and I hadn't, so here I am. This one is slightly weird, and I hope you like it; Anne Boleyn and Cromwell, but not as a pairing, in the afterlife. Please review! Song is Sweet Sacrifice by Evanescence. **

_It's true, we're all a little insane.  
>But it's so clear,<br>Now that I'm unchained._

_Fear is only in our minds,  
>Taking over all the time.<br>Fear is only in our minds but it's taking over all the time._

She was smiling at him, the slow, seductive smile that had sent men to their deaths. This was how he knew that it was not a nightmare; this was real. He was dead, and he was facing Anne Boleyn once again. Anne Boleyn, with her enchanting eyes and glittering smile and her feline movements.

"Hello, Master Secretary" she said sweetly, "Have a seat"

_You poor sweet innocent thing._  
><em>Dry your eyes and testify.<em>  
><em>You know you live to break me. Don't deny.<em>  
><em>Sweet sacrifice.<em>

"I didn't think I would ever see you again" Thomas Cromwell observed, looking around him. He had hoped that, despite the shame of his untimely death, he would at least be reunited with his Elizabeth, and his daughters, upon his entry into the afterlife. He certainly had not expected to see Anne.

They were seated at a desk very much like the one in his office, but this time, she was in control. She was looking at him thoughtfully from the other side of the desk.

"That much was apparent from your actions against me" she replied. Thomas shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I don't know what you want me to say, I – "

"I just want you to tell me why you did it. You knew at the time that blaming me was wrong. And it has continued to haunt you these past six years. Funny, is it not, that you followed me to Traitor's Gate, when it was you that sent me there?" Anne mused. He was disturbed by the fact that she did not look as angry as he had expected.

"I did it because I had to"

"Because you were selfish"

"No" to his own surprise, Thomas felt his eyes well with tears, his regret slamming into him like a punch in the gut. It had done that a lot in the past few years.

_One day I'm gonna forget your name,  
>And one sweet day, you're gonna drown in my lost pain.<em>

Anne did not seem to have any sympathy for him, even now, "I do not see how you can deny it. I do have a little part of me that revels in my revenge, though I try not to do so often. I revel in the fact that people will remember me for centuries to come; my descendants will fight for me, fight for my good name, and the people will grow to love me as they never did while I was alive. Whereas you, Thomas Cromwell...who will fight for your good name? Who will clear you?"

_Fear is only in our minds,_  
><em>Taking over all the time.<em>  
><em>Fear is only in our minds but it's taking over all the time.<em>

_You poor sweet innocent thing._  
><em>Dry your eyes and testify.<em>  
><em>And oh you love to hate me don't you, honey?<em>  
><em>I'm your sacrifice.<em>

"I never wanted it to end the way it did" Thomas told her earnestly, "You must believe me. You and your family were good to me when few others were; I would never have betrayed you if I could help it"

"But you did betray us; me most of all. Why, Master Secretary? Why would you do that?" Anne's voice no longer held the enchanting lilt that had frequently captured his fancy; she sounded truly sincere, truly desperate to know. It hurt him to hear her speak like that, she who had always been the consummate survivor, even after death.

"I tried to stop him from killing you. I suggested that he send you to France – I was the one who procured the French swordsman! I did that for you, out of an old and unflinching loyalty"

"You haven't answered my question" Anne pressed, "You supported me in the beginning, Thomas. But something made you hate me, something twisted your mind and poisoned you against me. I have a right to know what it was"

From behind her, Thomas caught sight of a woman with young fair hair, a young woman flanked by two small girls, a woman he recognised very well. It seemed she could not come closer to him, though she was not really trying. Anne saw that his eyes were no longer on her and craned her long, swan-like neck to see who he was looking at. She turned back to face him and saw that tears were now unashamedly rolling down his cheeks.

"Dry your eyes, Thomas Cromwell" she said coolly, "Dry your eyes and testify. Then you will be with your wife for eternity"

_Do you wonder why you hate?  
>Are you still too weak to survive your mistakes?<em>

Thomas buried his head in his hands. It took him a long time to speak.

"You reminded me of her" he said at last, eyes darting back to Elizabeth.

Anne stared at him for a few long moments, "Explain"

"Elizabeth was – Elizabeth...she used to charm everyone she met, and all the men loved her. She was beautiful and she laughed like you and she was always in control. Always. I never knew a time that she wasn't in control of anyone – even me. You were like her in that way. I didn't mind being controlled by my Beth, but I didn't want to be controlled by you. The day you threatened me – threatened to put my neck on the block – I knew that I never wanted anyone to have that influence over me again"

"And you were scared for your position" Anne put in coldly. Thomas nodded.

"Yes. Just as you were. I hated you more than I loved you, Anne. And I let that hatred control me. I shouldn't have done that. I am sorry"

Anne rose from her seat. As she did so, Elizabeth and the girls began to make their way towards him; slowly, as if wading through treacle.

"Do you forgive me?" Thomas asked urgently, pathetically, "Are we friends again?"

"Forgive you?" Anne looked genuinely surprised, "If course not. I was your sacrifice. Just because you have told me what you did, does not mean you are forgiven for it all. I won't be the sacrifice of any man ever again"

_You poor sweet innocent thing.  
>Dry your eyes and testify.<br>You know you live to break me.  
>Don't deny.<br>Sweet sacrifice._


	42. She is the Sunlight

**AN: Henry at Jane's bedside as she dies. Song is She Is The Sunlight by Trading Yesterday. By the lovely Lady Eleanor Boleyn. **

"Hurry. Jane hasn't long left, Father." Mary whispered.

Henry nodded at his eldest daughter's words and then pushed roughly past the girls as they left, hurrying to his beloved Jane's side. Her eyes were shut. She was slipping fast; slipping out of consciousness; slipping away from him. He knelt beside her, clutching her clammy hand, as though he could keep her with him purely by the strength of his hold.

"Don't go, please don't go. Just because you have done everything you've promised; please don't leave me. You are the milk of human kindness, the light in my dark dark world. Without you life is a desert, a howling wilderness," he begged desperately, before closing his eyes and praying as he had never prayed before, "Please God, in Your mercy, don't take her away from me. My son needs his mother and I need my Queen."

**If all the flowers faded away  
>And if all the storm clouds decided to stay<br>Then you would find me each hour the same  
>She is tomorrow and I am today<strong>

"_Your Queen, Henry? Don't you mean your brood mare? You're putting on a sham! You've never loved her. You've never loved any of us. All you love about Jane is the fact that she gave you a son."_

**Her**voice started up in his head and he shook it fiercely. "No! No! I love Jane! I've always loved her! She is my Guinevere! She is my Guinevere and I am her Lancelot. I swear; I swear on the Holy Bible, that I will never stop loving her!"

"_Holy Bible? Isn't that vow hollow for you now, Henry? After all, you broke with Rome. You've been excommunicated. You were excommunicated for my sake. I think you loved me more than you ever loved her, for all you call her your milk of human kindness."_

The tone was dripping with scorn and Henry gritted his teeth at the sound of it. "God's Death, will I never be free of you, Madam? Jane is my milk and honey Queen. **She**has been kind to both her predecessor's children. Which is more than you were to Mary."

There was a moment of silence and Henry used it to brush a lock of Jane's hair out of her face, letting his fingers linger on her cheek in a way that he was certain he had never done with the French harlot.

**And if right is leaving I'd rather be wrong**  
><strong>She is the sunlight and the sun is gone<strong>

"Ignore her, Jane," he whispered. "Ignore her. You are my rightful Queen and you always will be. I love you. I adore you. I always have and I always will. You are my Guinevere. No one can ever take that away from you."

For a moment, where his other hand still lay in Jane's, he thought he felt her squeeze his hand and his heart leaped with hope, "Jane!"

"_No, Henry. Let her go. She's only suffering as she fights to stay with you. It's God's will, Henry. Let her go. Let her go." _

The voices started up in his head again, but it wasn't **Her**this time. It was Katherine. His beautiful stubborn first love Katherine. At the sound of it, Henry felt like a little boy again; a lost little boy.

"But I don't want her to go, Katherine. I don't want to lose my Queen. She's done what she promised. She's brought me a golden world. She should be here to be part of it; to sit at my side as my Queen. I'm the King of England! I am God's anointed! I will keep her with me! I will!"

"_I know you are, Henry. I know. But there are some things that even a King must accept. Mortality is one of them. You must let her go. You can mourn her; mourn her forever if that is your wish. After all, she is your rightful Queen. Now that I am dead, she is your rightful Queen. But you cannot keep her with you. It's too late. It's too late, Husband. She's already gone."_

**If loving her is a heartache for me  
>And if holding her means that I have to bleed<br>Then I am the martyr and love is to blame**

**She is the healing and I am the pain  
>She lives in a daydream where I don't belong<br>She is the sunlight and the sun is gone**

"No! Jane, no! Please, no!" Henry's head snapped up. Grabbing Jane's wrist roughly, he felt desperately for her pulse, hoping against hope that Katherine's ghost was wrong; that his sweet Jane hadn't left him. But one look at her face was enough. He knew she was gone.

Unable to help himself, he threw his arms around her and pulled her up against, raining tears down into her soft golden hair, even as her body cooled.

For a few minutes, he gave himself over to his grief, forgetting that he was a King; that he had a country waiting on his every whim. He let himself simply be a man; a man weeping for his beloved wife.

At last, he pulled back to examine her. Her sweet face was serene, cleansed now of the tribulations of childbirth as her spirit rose to join the Father Almighty in his promised Kingdom. Rose beyond Henry's reach, to somewhere he couldn't yet go. He couldn't join her. Even though he was King of England and Lord of all he possessed, he couldn't join her.

She was gone from him; had gone to take her place beside the Queen of Heaven, and Henry's Kingdom was nothing more than a barren shell of what it had once been. The young and golden Court of England was now a dark and desolate, echoing with grief for its beautiful Queen Jane.

**And if right is leaving I'd rather be wrong  
>She is the sunlight and the sun is gone<br>She is the sunlight and the sun is gone**


	43. Cousin Kate

**A/n: Hey, GreenField here! So this is actually a poemfic to Cousin Kate by Christina Rossetti, from Mary Boleyn's point of view about Anne's relationship with Henry. Please review!**

_I was a cottage maiden _

_Hardened by sun and air, _

_Contented with my cottage mates, _

_Not mindful I was fair. _

_Why did a great lord find me out, _

_And praise my flaxen hair? _

_Why did a great lord find me out _

_To fill my heart with care? _

I look out across the fields of Hever from my chamber window, impatiently swiping away a crystalline tear. I have not left my room for several days, since I heard George's news. Anne is getting married. Not married to just any man, oh no – not my ambitious sister – but married to the King of England. Married to a man who was once my lover, who had plucked me away from the simple life I desired, out of my husband's bed and into his own. Now my husband is dead and I have long been dropped, and I am not quite sure how to feel.

I wanted a life in the country, with the husband I loved, my hair threaded with wildflowers and a babe in my arms. It was not much to ask – for any ordinary woman. For a Boleyn, however, it was the biggest ask imaginable.

I came to court one day against my will, trussed up in a golden gown paid for with my reluctant William's money. And the King asked me to dance.

He told me I was beautiful, so different from everyone else, looking like a country maid just stepped out from the woods. He told me that my flaxen hair, something I had never particularly been fond of, was as stunning as spun gold. I, admittedly, was flattered. Maybe a little too much so.

_He lured me to his palace home- _

_Woe's me for joy thereof- _

_To lead a shameless shameful life, _

_His plaything and his love. _

_He wore me like a silken knot, _

_He changed me like a glove; _

_So now I moan, an unclean thing, _

_Who might have been a dove. _

I became his that very night. I was married, it was wrong of me and I knew it even at the time. But I was dazzled to my very core; at the time, I even thought that I loved him. Oh, what a fool I was! If I could only have known what I know now: that I meant about as much to him as the deer he slaughtered during the hunt. But at the time...it seemed strangely...right. Our time together was blissful, he named a ship for me, the _Mary Boleyn_, set to sail the seven seas, and we were happy. Or so I thought. I was everything to him, I imagined. But now...now I am ruined.

Everyone knows, now, of my affair, and they laugh at me. That is why I have retired here, to Hever. But why do they laugh, you ask? Well, that's the best bit.

_O Lady Kate, my cousin Kate, _

_You grew more fair than I: _

_He saw you at your father's gate, _

_Chose you, and cast me by. _

_He watched your steps along the lane, _

_Your work among the rye; _

_He lifted you from mean estate _

_To sit with him on high. _

Four years ago, on a not so very unusual day, my sister – beautiful, charming, coquettish Anne – shot an arrow into the target of an archery board, where King Henry had missed the mark just moments before. It was brave of her, I give her that – no-one ever dared to beat the King – but Anne did, and for that, she won the ultimate prize. While she was standing with our father after the tournament, their heads close together, talking with smiles, the perfect father and daughter (she was always his favourite), King Henry, at that time still my Henry, told her that he was greatly impressed by her skill. He invited her to dine with him that evening, and she declined. That was the first move in a game that has lasted for four years now, and looks set to last many more, now that they are betrothed. He told me that he would no longer be 'requiring my services', as though all we had shared was nothing more than that between peasant and a dockside whore. I knew it had not been that simple, but Henry seemed content to believe that it had been, and I could not contradict him. So I nursed my broken heart, and tried to regain the love my William and I had once had.

He tells Anne now that she is too good to be the granddaughter of a tailor, too good to be content with the small castle of Hever where we three grew up. Instead, he tells her she is worthy of the throne. She believes him.

_Because you were so good and pure _

_He bound you with his ring: _

_The neighbours call you good and pure, _

_Call me an outcast thing. _

_Even so I sit and howl in dust, _

_You sit in gold and sing: _

_Now which of us has tenderer heart? _

_You had the stronger wing. _

George tells me it is a ruby ring, a ruby to symbolise virtue, because in all this time she has never once surrendered her body to him. I suppose that was my first mistake, falling into his bed so easily. But I never did have Anne's strength, nor her ambitious determination. My second mistake, perhaps my biggest mistake, was believing that I loved him. Perhaps if I had realised that mistake sooner, I could have recaptured the marital bliss William and I once shared before he died. But now I will never get back those wasted years.

The court now worships my sister, I am told. I will have to return soon, she will require me to serve her. Sometimes, I hate her. I will have to go to court and serve her on bended knee, one day curtsey to her and call her 'Your Majesty', rather than 'Annie' as I always have done, and I will have to be seen to worship her also. Behind my back people who were once my friends, who flocked to me in my time of favour, will whisper and snigger and point. I shall be a source of ridicule, and all the while my sister will be the better Boleyn, ring on her finger and Queenship on the way.

_O cousin Kate, my love was true, _

_Your love was writ in sand: _

_If he had fooled not me but you, _

_If you stood where I stand, _

_He'd not have won me with his love _

_Nor bought me with his land; _

_I would have spit into his face _

_And not have taken his hand. _

Could I have held out and been his Queen? Could I have gotten as far as Anne has? I tell myself I could not, and I believe that that is true. Sooner or later I would have realised, as I eventually did, that I do not love him, and I would not have been able to back out. When I think on it, now, I am angry with him more than her. Anne is my sister, after all, and I will always love her, despite her betrayal. Maybe she saw in him that he was going to betray me, and thought to spare me the pain by saving time. I could believe that of her.

But Henry, once mine? He would not ever have spared a thought for the pain that I felt. I know now, for sure, that had he proposed to me, I would have spat the offer right back in his face and thrown that outrageous ruby ring at his feet, and damn him if he cut off my head for doing so.

_Yet I've a gift you have not got, _

_And seem not like to get: _

_For all your clothes and wedding-ring _

_I've little doubt you fret. _

_My fair-haired son, my shame, my pride, _

_Cling closer, closer yet: _

_Your father would give lands for one _

_To wear his coronet_

Ah, I do fear there is something I have forgotten to mention. You see, it is Henry who has lost. Not because he gains Anne's fearsome temper and her rigid virtuousness and her ambition, not even because he loses me, his flaxen-haired country girl. But because I have already given him something I believe Anne never will.

At my feet in this moment sit two golden haired children. A girl – she will not matter to him, though she should. And a boy. He looks like the Henry I once knew, the golden King of England, yet Henry and Anne have no claim to him. This boy born of my sin is my pride and joy, for he is something that they – my sister and my lover – can never take away from me.

This boy is the true heir to the throne.


	44. Enchanted

_AN: Elizabeth/Lady Eleanor Boleyn's OC Edward Brandon from before Daughters of A Rose Without A Thorn starts. Michelmas, 1543. It's amazing, by the way, so please review it :)_

**There I was again tonight, forcing laughter, faking smiles  
>Same old, tired place lonely place<br>Walls of insincerity, shifting eyes and vacancy  
>Vanished when I saw your face<strong>

All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you

"Make way for Her Highness the Princess Elizabeth! Make way!"

The crowds fell back at the herald's call and I made my way to the dais, executing a careful curtsy to my father," Your Majesty."

"Daughter." His voice was cool, but he did at least nod in acknowledgement of the respect I was paying him. He gestured abruptly for me to take the empty seat beside him, which I did. However, he then pointedly ignored me, concentrating instead on his conversation with the Duke of Suffolk.

The blatant dismissal hurt, but I kept my head up and a fixed smile on my lips. I was a Howard, a young lady of marriageable age and a Princess. Those were just three of the reasons I needed to be the most deceitful creature that God ever put on this Earth. I was had just turned thirteen and it was the first time I had been at Court since my mother's execution. I couldn't afford to give our enemies any ammunition to use against me.

At last, the dessert course had been removed and the musicians were tuning up. Father glanced at me. As I expected, he snapped, "Dance with the Duke of Suffolk". We were the highest ranking pair in the room after the King, after all. Since Father's leg was too bad for him to dance, the Duke of Suffolk would have to partner me before he danced with his wife.

"Of course, Sire," I murmured, rising obediently, though not without some trepidation. The music was a galliard; His Grace was seven years older than my father. I wondered if he'd be able to keep up.

But he surprised me. He might be past his prime, but he was still strong and healthy.

And anyway, soon it didn't matter, for it was as we went down the line that I saw him.

**Your eyes whispered, "Have we met?" across the room, your silhouette  
>Starts to make its way to me<br>The playful conversation starts, counter all your quick remarks  
>Like passing notes in secrecy<strong>

He was dancing with one of the Manners girls; I couldn't make out which. To my astonishment, I found myself captivated by his lithe movements and, as I made my final curtsy to the Duke of Suffolk, I stared past him at the mysterious boy's back. As though he could feel my eyes on him, he turned round.

Our eyes met. A frisson of sparks coursed between us.

Excusing himself, he was bowing before me in time for the next dance, a salladre, "Princess Elizabeth? Might I have the honour?"

"Gladly..," I hesitated.

"Lord Edward. Lord Edward Brandon."

A jolt went through me at the name, "I've just danced with your father!"

"Indeed? And which of us is the better dancer, My Lady Princess?" Edward asked, spinning me around as the salladre required. I pretended to consider.

"I really cannot say. After all, courtesy forbids me from slandering such a great personage as His Grace and, though you have fine promise, you're a little young to have mastered the highest points of finesse," I replied at last.

"Too young! I like that! You're no older!"

Edward caught me unawares by the speed of his rejoinder. Moments later, however, he collected himself, "Begging Your Highness's pardon. I spoke out of turn."

I laughed, "Forgiveness granted. You've a ready tongue, Lord Edward. I like that. Tell me, what brings you to Court?"

"His Majesty requested that I join the Duke of Richmond's household, now that he has turned nine and requires some older boys to test his sporting prowess against."

The reserve in Lord Edward's tone told me that he wasn't too thrilled with his new position. Therefore, I felt safe in muttering, "I think you mean required, don't you?"

Edward nodded, "I do, Your Highness. Had it not been for the Royal command, my father would never have made me go. As it is…"

"We all know how dangerous it can be to defy the King," I whispered, before continuing, "How do you find your new position?"

"Truthfully? A bore. His Grace can barely stand an hour of sword training, yet he expects us to defer to him as though he is a knight already blooded in battle and we others just his squires."

"That doesn't surprise me. My father's bastard always gives himself airs," I growled. Edward glanced at me in surprise, "You sound as though you know the young Duke, my Lady."

"Sadly. Our households share a palace. He often comes visiting, if only because he knows he won't have to treat me with any formality."

"Then perhaps I shall have to accompany him, Princess," Edward breathed, lifting my hand gallantly to his lips for a kiss as the music ended.

**And it was enchanting to meet you**  
><strong>All I can say is I was enchanted to meet you<strong>

**This night is sparkling, don't you let it go**  
><strong>I'm wonder-struck, blushing all the way home<strong>  
><strong>I'll spend forever wondering if you knew<strong>  
><strong>I was enchanted to meet you<strong>

"I look forward to it, Lord Edward," I murmured, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. I glanced sideways at Edward. He looked so calm and controlled. Could he not tell that my heart was hammering harder than I had ever known it too at his proximity? Apparently not.

Forcing myself to follow suit, I tried to keep my face blank as I walked away, though I did grab a glass of wine from a server in the corner and down it in one go. After all, I was already blushing. I might as well be able to account the flush in my cheeks to something other than Lord Edward.

**The lingering question kept me up, 2 a.m., who do you love?  
>I wonder 'til I'm wide awake<br>Now I'm pacing back and forth, wishing you were at my door  
>I'd open up and you would say<strong>

**It was enchanting to meet you**  
><strong>All I know is I was enchanted to meet you<strong>

Father dismissed me at around midnight, but even then, it was hours before I slept. I tossed and turned, unable to take my mind off Lord Edward.

Images flashed before my eyes. Sometimes they were happy images – Edward and I talking, dancing, kissing.

I imagined how, once we were back at Hatfield, I would invite my half-brother and his companions to join my sister and I on a hunt. My half-brother was no rider. It wouldn't take long for Edward and I to outstrip him. Then, with Blanche entertaining the other, we two could truly be alone. Well, perhaps Anne and Susanna would have to come along for propriety's sake. That wouldn't matter though. I trusted them with my life.

Even if they didn't like Edward, they still wouldn't betray me to Father. They'd understand that I needed the happiness of a courtship after what had happened to my mother.

But all of a sudden, a wave of panic overtook me and the pictures changed. Edward frowned at me, walked away from me.

I saw him kissing another, faceless, nameless girl; standing before the altar with her.

What if he loved someone else or was already betrothed? I hadn't thought to ask. I hadn't even told him what meeting him had meant to me, for God's sake! All I'd managed was a perfectly formal, "I look forward to it, Lord Edward when he'd suggested accompanying my half-brother to visit me! What if he didn't know how I felt and thought I wouldn't want to see him? I couldn't bear that thought!

**This night is sparkling, don't you let it go  
>I'm wonder-struck, blushing all the way home<br>I'll spend forever wondering if you knew**

**This night is flawless, don't you let it go**  
><strong>I'm wonder-struck, dancing around all alone<strong>  
><strong>I'll spend forever wondering if you knew<strong>  
><strong>I was enchanted to meet you<strong>

**This is me praying that**

**This was the very first page, not where the storyline ends**  
><strong>My thoughts will echo your name until I see you again<strong>  
><strong>These are the words I held back as I was leaving too soon<strong>  
><strong>I was enchanted to meet you<strong>

When Anne came in to dress me the next morning, she commented on how tired I looked, "You look like you've barely slept, My Lady."

"Elizabeth," I corrected automatically, "And it's nothing that a bit of powder won't fix, Cousin.

"As you wish, Elizabeth," Anne murmured, busying herself with my dress, hair and face. I stayed silent, running over my conversation with Edward yet again.

"You're quiet this morning," Anne ventured at last, "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, Yes. I'm fine! Well…Anne, do you happen to know whether Edward Brandon is betrothed? Lord Edward, I should say. The Duke of Suffolk's son?"

"Anne looked taken aback at my question, "No. No, I don't, sorry."

"It's fine," I waved away the apologies, but she peered at my reflection searchingly, "Why do you ask?"

"No particular reason," I lied, "I was just curious."

"Just curious? Really, Elizabeth? I don't believe you. You've never asked this sort of thing before. Has he taken your eye, little cousin?" Anne teased. I flushed crimson.

"We danced once last night, Anne, and I liked his company. That's all."

"Well, I can find out whether he's betrothed or not, if you like."

I couldn't resist the offer. "If you would. Please."

"All right," Anne smiled, set my hood on my head and stepped back, "Signor Battista's waiting."

I nodded gravely, but as she curtsied and slipped from the room, I couldn't help hoping that my Edward would turn out to be a free man.

**Please don't be in love with someone else  
>Please don't have somebody waiting on you<br>Please don't be in love with someone else  
>Please don't have somebody waiting on you<strong>

**This night is sparkling, don't you let it go**  
><strong>I'm wonder-struck, blushing all the way home<strong>  
><strong>I'll spend forever wondering if you knew<strong>

**This night is flawless, don't you let it go**  
><strong>I'm wonder-struck, dancing around all alone<strong>  
><strong>I'll spend forever wondering if you knew<strong>  
><strong>I was enchanted to meet you<strong>

**Please don't be in love with someone else**  
><strong>Please don't have somebody waiting on you<strong>


	45. A Thousand Years

**A/N: Hi, GreenField here- and I apologise in advance, because it's another George Boleyn/my OC Elizabeth Hollington. Sorry! Anyway, this is one of my favourite songs of all time and I really hope you enjoy the chapter. Please review! A Thousand Years, by Christina Perri. Set before George and Elizabeth are together. I have so many different ways of them getting together!**

_Heart beats fast  
>Colours and promises<br>How to be brave  
>How can I love when I'm afraid<br>To fall  
>But watching you stand alone<br>All of my doubt  
>Suddenly goes away somehow<em>

Elizabeth tapped her toes impatiently on the concrete stones before the steps she sat on. George had promised he would come and see her today- it had been several years since they had spent any real time together, but now he was finished at Oxford and would be setting off with her and her family for court tomorrow. She wondered if he would think she was pretty, in her new emerald green gown with her hair in a loose braid, tied with a green silk ribbon. Her heart was pounding against her corset, which was pulled tight. She had a small, plain silver ring around her finger, a present from George that she had had since childhood. They had promised themselves to each other when she was six. It was sill, really, that she still wore the ring. Maybe she ought to take it off – he might not like it if he thought she was taking their old flirtations too seriously.

Maybe she was.

She saw him, suddenly, making his way up the gravel path. He had walked from Hever rather than ridden, for the distance was so short. He looked so handsome, even more so than she remembered. His face lit up when he saw her waiting. Elizabeth stood up, wanting to run to him but too scared to do any such thing. The book she had been holding fell to the floor, pages fluttering. She was barely breathing. 

_One step closer_

_I have died everyday  
>waiting for you<br>Darlin' don't be afraid  
>I have loved you for a<br>Thousand years  
>I'll love you for a<br>Thousand more_

She had waited for him for so long, to tell him how she felt. Remembering all the times her quill had dripped ink over the page as it hovered over the letters she wrote to him, wanting to write it down, word for word, the inexhaustible love she felt for him. She could never do it. She was afraid.

"Elizabeth!" his call, voice swelling with delight, made her head snap up from it's fixed position gazing at the ground and look at him at last. Her smile when she realised he was pleased to see her made her whole being glow, her eyes sparkle. She ran towards him, and he picked up his pace also. His arms were held out, waiting for her to fall into them. She was laughing, exhilarated, flying towards him in a blur of summer green.

She skidded to a halt mere centimetres before reaching him. A fleeting puzzlement crossed George's face, a slight disappointment that she wasn't in his arms after all, and he let his arms drop. Elizabeth turned bright red. What a fool she felt! They had embraced millions of times, why was this so different? Tears suddenly filled her eyes, thinking about what an idiot she must look to him.

_Time stands still_  
><em>Beauty in all she is<em>  
><em>I will be brave<em>  
><em>I will not let anything<em>  
><em>Take away<em>  
><em>What's standing in front of me<em>  
><em>Every breath,<em>  
><em>Every hour has come to this<em>

"Elizabeth" George was still smiling at her as he repeated her name. She was still blushing, a delicate shade of rose pink, and her eyes looked wet. He wondered why she had stopped before hugging him. He'd been looking forward to holding her again – especially now. She was so beautiful. He was sure he hadn't been the only one waiting for this moment.

Time seemed frozen. Elizabeth was looking up at him with dewy eyes and a trembling lower lip which she kept catching with her teeth, a sure sign of nervousness. Little strands of red-gold hair had wriggled their way out of her braid and made her look like a lost child again, the one who had clung to his hand and followed at heel. He had missed her so much. The amount of times in the dead of night he had wanted to jump on his horse and ride back here, to her home, and tell her that he loved her under a moonlit sky. But he had been too afraid.

_One step closer_

_I have died everyday  
>Waiting for you<br>Darlin' don't be afraid  
>I have loved you for a<br>Thousand years  
>I'll love you for a<br>Thousand more_

_And all along I believed_  
><em>I would find you<em>  
><em>Time has brought<em>  
><em>Your heart to me<em>  
><em>I have loved you for a<em>  
><em>Thousand years<em>  
><em>I'll love you for a<em>  
><em>Thousand more<em>

"I've missed you" George said at last, taking a deep breath as he spoke. The effect of these words on Elizabeth was instantaneous; her eyes dried and her lips warmed into a glittering smile.

"I've missed you, too" she replied, her voice much softer and quieter than he remembered. George smiled at her.

"Well , then? Where's my hug?" he offered up with a teasing grin. Elizabeth laughed, the ringing laugh that he remembered so well, and fell into his embrace at last. They held on to each other for a long time, and when he let go, they were both blushing.

As she stepped away slightly, George caught a glint of silver on her ring finger. His heart began to hammer. She would not have worn the ring if she did not feel the same way. Elizabeth saw him looking at it and covered it over with her hand, now quite crimson.

"I – " she tried to speak, mortified, for she hadn't wanted him to notice it, "I – didn't – "

George reached out and gently took her hand in his own, gazing at the ring. He pressed her hand to his lips.

"You still wear it" he observed quietely.

"Yes" Elizabeth whispered, knowing that there was no use denying it now – if he hadn't gathered her love from the ring, he surely had seen it in her eyes, "Of course I do"

_One step closer_  
><em>One step closer<em>

They looked at each other, both pairs of eyes fearful, hopeful. They took a step closer to each other at the same moment, George letting her hand drop in favour of gently stroking away the loose tendrils of hair that surrounded her still rosy face. Her eyes fixed on his lips, her own lips parted – she did not quite know what to say, or how to say it, or what to do.

"I've loved you for forever" she blurted out at last, mentally cursing herself for the way the words had escaped her lips.

George smiled at her, completely in disbelief, "I've waited for you forever"

"I was too scared to tell you" she confessed softly, quite in shock.

"I was too scared to tell you" George concurred, and they both laughed, if a little shakily. George leaned towards her, his lips brushing hers.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, not wanting to frighten her.

"I've waited for your kiss for a thousand years" Elizabeth replied, "Of course you can kiss me"

_I have died everyday_  
><em>Waiting for you<em>  
><em>Darlin' don't be afraid,<em>  
><em>I have loved you for a<em>  
><em>Thousand years<em>  
><em>I'll love you for a<em>  
><em>Thousand more<em>

_And all along I believed_  
><em>I would find you<em>  
><em>Time has brought<em>  
><em>Your heart to me<em>  
><em>I have loved you for a<em>  
><em>Thousand years<em>  
><em>I'll love you for a<em>  
><em>Thousand more<em>


	46. Call It Love

_AN: For KingdomHeartsNerd, who was desperate for Lady Eleanor Boleyn to do a George Boleyn/Princess Blanche pairing. Song is Candice Night's Call It Love._

**I'm standing here  
>Watching the waves break on the sand,<br>Holding your hand, and wondering if there was a time'  
>When I felt more comfortable.<br>I could conquer the world with you by my side**.

Blanche Boleyn _nee _Tudor leaned against her new husband's shoulder, her hand slipped trustingly into his. They were looking out of the window of the Lieutenant's Tower in Dublin Port, listening to the waves crashing on to the harbour walls beneath them.

Blanche took off her hood and shook out her hair, radiant with a confidence she had never shown before. Purring with contentment, she nestled closer to George. He looked down at her, running his fingers through her hair with a slight smile. Suddenly, however, he paused. His fingers stilled in her hair and he let out a soft sigh.

In an instant, Blanche was drawing away from him, spinning around, catching his hands in hers, "What is it? George? Darling. What is it?"

"Have we done the right thing? Marrying, I mean? It was so quick. I barely thought. And Elizabeth's going to be so furious. Can we really stand up to her? You might have been Queen of France, Blanche? Queen of France and the Queen of England's most beloved sister. Instead…instead, you're just a disobedient Countess. Are you sure this is what you want? Wouldn't you rather be a Queen?"

Blanche almost gasped at George's outpouring of emotion. He'd been quiet in the last day or two, but she hadn't guessed that he might be thinking anything close to this. She had to pull him out of this. She had to. She loved him; she couldn't have him doubting that love. Not even for an instant. Not if they were to stand against her sister.

She cupped her hand around his cheek, turning his head down so that he was forced to meet her eye. "No," she whispered, stroking his flesh tenderly, "Because then I wouldn't be your White Rose anymore, would I?"

"But you'd be Elizabeth's sister."

"I still am, George. I still am. The same blood runs in our veins. Nothing and no one can change that. But being her sister doesn't mean I don't want to be your White Rose. And I do. I know I do."

We've gone down so many lonely roads,**  
><strong>Searched for what we know was right around the corner.**  
><strong>And I knew from the time I saw your face,**  
><strong>From our first embrace,**  
><strong>That you were the one.

Blanche drew George to lie down within the space offered by the window embrasure, arranging him so that he was resting his head in her lap as she sat with her back against the wall.

"And I owe you so much," she crooned, "You've brought me out of myself. Don't you remember what I used to be like, George? I was so shy. I scarcely dared move whenever I went to Court, for fear of bringing Father's wrath down on my head. I didn't know how I was ever going to run Ireland; impose my authority upon it so that the chieftains would be loyal to Bessie. You taught me that. Bessie and Lady Bryan might have taught me to be a Princess, but you taught me to be a Stateswoman. You've been my Knight; my Knight in shining armour, ever since the St George's Day Joust; when you asked for my favour rather than my sister's. And the day you fought that Irish Chieftain for my honour. What was his name? Adain McBrion? I think that was the day I first loved you; really loved you; loved you the way my sister loves Edward. You're my glorious Champion and you always will be. Bessie will understand that. Eventually. Just stay strong, darling. Stay strong and we'll persuade her. We'll be back at Court, recognised as husband and wife and as openly favoured as ever. Just stay strong. For me. Please."

**We could call it luck,  
>We could call it fate,<br>We could call it heart's desire,  
>We could call it a dream even though we're wide awake-<br>Let's just call it love.I feel like  
>I've known you my whole life.<br>Every day and night was made just for us.  
>I don't know what I ever did before<br>You walked through my door and changed my whole life**

It was enough. George tensed in her lap and Blanche smiled. She'd done enough. She could feel him squaring his shoulders even through the thick fabric of her velvet gown. Sure enough, when his eyes flickered open, she could read the new determination in them. He loved her; he loved her and would stand by her. No matter what the future might hold. No matter what.

"My White Rose," he murmured huskily, "My beautiful White Rose. What would I do without you?"

"You don't have to worry about that," Blanche promised, "You can have me and hold me for just as long as we both shall live. I promised you that once and I'll promise it again. I'll promise it however many times you need me to. I promise."

George chuckled lowly, "I'll hold you to that, Rosebud," he mock-threatened, rolling off her lap before reaching up and pulling her down on top of him so that he could crush their lips together.

The smothered peal of laughter that escaped her mouth and vibrated against his own as he did so was the sweetest thing he had ever heard.

**We could call it luck,  
>We could call it fate,<br>We could call it heart's desire,  
>We could call it a dream even though we're wide awake-<br>Let's just call it love.  
>Let's Just call it love, I'd like to call it love<br>Let's Just call it love, I'd like to call it love**


	47. Crowning of a King

_AN: Lady Eleanor Boleyn :) . Another Queen's Day Inspired update. Yes, I know Elizabeth Woodville wasn't proclaimed as Edward IV's wife until months after his Coronation, but allow me some poetic license. It makes for a nicer story. Song is Crowning of the King by Blackmore's Night, which is absolutely gorgeous!_

**Down in the village streets  
>The air is full of wonder<br>Fair smiles greet  
>The crowning of the king…<br>Come hither, gather round  
>A joyous time's upon us<br>Trumpets sound  
>The crowning of the king<strong>…

The crowds pressed eagerly against one another, lining each side of the road in lines at least six persons deep. They were laughing, jostling, teasing; all craning their necks, straining to be the first among their friends to see the new King pass.

Their new King; their strong young King, who had won his throne on the battlefield, taking what was rightfully his from the forces of the weak Henry VI. Their handsome King, who was already married and promising to have a son to succeed him within the year.

A son. A Prince. A Prince from an English girl of good blood; not from the French She-Wolf who had reigned so tyrannically such a short time ago. A Prince to keep this country safe; to keep England from sliding back into the bitterness of civil war.

Suddenly the trumpets blared. Excitement peaked and a voice, lonely in the great multitude of people called out, "Here he comes, God Bless him! God Bless King Edward! Long Live Edward IV!"

One voice was all it took. The spell had been broken. Cheers rang out and His Majesty King Edward rode down the London street to a cacophony of joyous voices screaming his name.

**Fast away the olde  
>Time too quickly passes<br>Shine the light of new  
>For the crowning of the king…<br>Come forth those who wish  
>For change and change becoming<br>Welcome with every breath  
>The crowning of the king…<strong>

There had never been a more popular King. But then, there had never been a handsomer King. Nor had there ever been a King who had willingly shared his day with his sweetheart; with his wife and Queen, the way Edward Plantagenet did.

He rode down the lined roads, mounted high on his great white charger, with his new Queen, Elizabeth Grey _nee _Woodville, at his side. The pair were hand-clasped and exchanged longing looks even as they smiled and waved at their new populace; looks that only confirmed in the hearts of the Londoners how very much in love their new monarchs truly were.

The obvious love between the two wasn't perhaps the common thing for Kings and Queens, but the Londoners couldn't have cared less. To them, it was just another sign of how different things would be now. If Kings and Queens could marry for love and not politics, well then, love truly had conquered all.

Times had changed. Love and peace, not fear and war, reigned supreme in England now. Love and Peace reigned and mothers no longer had to fear for their sons. Wives no longer had to fear for their husbands. Daughters and sisters could sleep soundly once again; secure in the knowledge that their fathers and brothers would still be there in the morning. The delight and relief that filled them at that realisation was immeasurable. Small wonder, then, that they were cheering their new King and Queen so wholeheartedly.

**Sweet is the hour and sweeter still  
>The time we spend together<br>Celebrate the noble will  
>The crowning of the king…<br>To sing and dance and sing again  
>With honour and with splendour<br>All from far and near-  
>See the crowning of the king!<strong>

**Step to the dance of hope**  
><strong>Of courtly wiles and pleasure<strong>  
><strong>As the star of the morn<strong>  
><strong>Shines brightly for the king…<strong>

And when King Edward took it upon himself to turn his horse at the head of the road and call back to them, "Good People of London, My Queen and I thank you for your happy greetings and return any blessings that you have bestowed upon us in full. It gives us great pleasure to know that we have your loyalty. We would be most pleased if we could know that you were enjoying this day as much as we ourselves are. To this end, I have decided to allow dancing, bonfires and free wine for the remainder of the day. We pray by Saint George that you will enjoy it," the shouts that resounded were almost deafening.

Groups of musicians, who had peeled away from the cavalcade following Their Majesties and hidden themselves among the crowd tuned up as the King rode away and, within minutes, everyone had grabbed themselves a partner and was swirling around in a haphazard jumble of bright colours and laughing smiles and gleaming ribbons.

It was a golden day; the day that would forever be remembered as The Day of the Three Suns. The Three Suns of York, for they were blazing triumphantly; blazing even more brightly than the glistening heated orb that hung in the sky overhead.

**Pray thee lift the veil  
>From those who came before us<br>Merriment will prevail  
>For the crowning of the king…<strong>

**Sweet is the hour and sweeter still**  
><strong>The time we spend together<strong>  
><strong>Celebrate the noble will<strong>  
><strong>The crowning of the king…<strong>

The Sun of York was blazing and gone were the days of oppressive uncertainty under the She-Wolf and her Puppet King. Gone were the days of tyranny and French oppression. They were gone, never to return.

How could they return, when King Edward was so young and strong and had such a beautiful Queen at his side? A beautiful Queen who was more a woman than Margaret of Anjou would ever be. After all, Elizabeth Grey _nee _Woodville had already proven her fertility. She had two healthy sons by her first husband, Sir John Grey, the Lord Ferrers of Groby. That was more than the Anjou Princess had managed to do when she first landed on English soil.

Margaret had a son now, it was true, but that was after years of marriage, and God only knew whether little Edward had been King Henry's at all. He could just as easily have been the Duke of Suffolk's. There wouldn't be that problem with _this_ King. That was plain enough for anyone to see.

So strong was the conviction that even customary spoilsports got caught up in the merriment, laughing and dancing until the whole of London was ringing with exultation for the crowning of King Edward and Queen Elizabeth.

King Edward and Queen Elizabeth. The Sun King and the Rivers Queen. Given London's position as the centre of commerce in England and the fact that it lay on the great banks of the Thames, could there ever have been a King and Queen more suited to the City? It was very much doubtful.

**To sing and dance and sing again  
>With honour and with splendour<br>All from far and near-  
>See the crowning of the king!<br>Jesters spin and play  
>The laughter sounds like music<br>What a perfect day  
>For the crowning of the king…<strong>

**Here in the village streets**  
><strong>The air is full of wonder<strong>  
><strong>Fair smiles greet the crowning of the king…<strong>  
><strong>Come and see the crowning of the king!<strong>


	48. Gold Forever

**A/N: Hi, GreenField here, very glad to be back! The song is Gold Forever by The Wanted set to multiple pairings - Charles Brandon/Princess Mary (Margaret in the show), Henry/Anne, Elizabeth/Robert Dudley, Mary Boleyn/William Stafford and Anne Seymour/Francis Bryan. Please review and thank you for reading.**

_Say my name like it's the last time,  
>Live today like its your last night,<br>We want to cry but we know its alright,  
>Cause I'm with you and you're with me,<br>Butterflies, butterflies..we were meant to fly,  
>You and I, you and I..colors in the sky,<br>We could rule the world someday, somehow but we'll never be as bright as we are now._

"Now is not the time for weeping!" Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, twirled his new wife the Princess Mary Tudor around the great hall of their home, "How long has it been since we desired to be wed?"

"Oh, such a very long time!" Mary cried passionately, wiping her brimming eyes, "I just wish that we could share our happiness with everyone. If Henry would only – "

"He will learn to trust us again, in time" Charles spoke gently, but he could not rid himself of the huge grin that spread across his face as he looked upon her beautiful face, "Come, Mary, now is a time for celebration! You know what they say, don't you?"

"What?" she looked so terribly lovely, even with red eyes and a running nose. Charles took her face between his hands and planted a firm kiss on her lips.

"When you love each other, you have to treat every day as though it is your last. And we love each other, don't we?"

"Of course" she smiled at him, glowing like a typical Tudor sun.

"Well then! Mary, we are young and powerful and you, at least, are beautiful – "

"You are" she interrupted coyly, and her eyes twinkled with sudden mirth. Charles laughed warmly.

"See? This is why I married you. You're good for me, Mary" he intertwined his fingers with hers, "We have everything, you and I. Everything anyone could ever wish for. You do know that, don't you?"

Mary looked up at him, and he could see that there was a laugh bubbling up inside her.

"What?" he frowned, bemused, "What did I say?"

A giggle burst forth and her red lips stretched into a stunning smile, "We really do have everything! Charles...I'm pregnant!"

_We're standing in a light that won't fade,  
>Tomorrow's coming but this won't change,<br>Cause some days stay gold forever.  
>The memory of being here with you,<br>Is one I'm gonna take my life through,  
>Cause some days stay gold forever.<em>

"Can you believe it?" Henry kissed Anne's neck, but she was in no state to respond to such advances. They were standing at the window of their marital chambers, watching the multicoloured fireworks that shattered the sky and sparkled just for her on her coronation day.

"No" Anne replied faintly, leaning into his strong arms, "Today has been...the most wonderful day"

"Yes" Henry agreed, smiling; he had so wanted Anne to be happy, and now he had given her everything she had ever wanted, and all he had ever wanted for her. Now she just had to give him what she had promised, and they could be happy. He cradled her belly in his hands.

"I never imagined..." Anne was almost lost for words, an unusual occurrence, "When everything was happening with Catherine, and the divorce, I sometimes wondered...if it would ever actually happen. And now it has, after all these years...it feels like a dream"

"It is all real" Henry beamed, pleased to see this new, sensitive side of his lover, "You are my wife and my Queen of England, and you carry the heir to the throne in your belly. You no longer have to dream"

"I won't ever forget this day" Anne whispered, and, moving away from him, she splayed her long white fingers against the cool glass of the window, as if to catch the fireworks like stars and hold them forever.

_Promise me you'll stay the way you are,_  
><em>Keep the fire alive and stay young at heart,<em>  
><em>When the storm feels like it could blow you out remember,<em>  
><em>you got me and I got you..cause we are, butterflies, butterflies..we were meant to fly,<em>  
><em>You and I, you and I..colors in the sky,<em>  
><em>When the innocence is dead and gone,<em>  
><em>These will be the times we look back on.<em>

"How can you possibly expect me to be happy? My poor brother is dead, my cousin is in the Tower and Mary distrusts me so much that I am sure she watches me even now, somehow. What have I to be happy about?" Princess Elizabeth asked her childhood companion, Robert Dudley. Young and beautiful with porcelain skin and hair like a flame, Robert could not take his eyes off of her; she glowed with colour in the desolate moor they rode across.

"You are the heir to the throne now. You are next, and you will be great!" Robert replied enthusiastically. Elizabeth pierced him with her mother's dark, entrancing eyes.

"That is treason"

"It's a matter of fact" Robert concurred, "You know it is"

"Mary may yet have children if she marries the Spaniard"

"No! Elizabeth, Bessie – "

"_Your Highness_" she corrected, eyes twinkling. Robert smiled at her.

"Your highness, then. Don't you see, Mary won't ever have children! She's much too old now, as barren as her poor old mother was, and then you will rule. Everyone wishes for it to happen. Elizabeth – your Highness – you are going to be Queen"

"Hope is a fickle friend" replied Elizabeth, tossing her head, "That is what life has taught me. We aren't children anymore"

"No" agreed Robert, "We're in a much better place. Nothing will ever be so good as it is now. You'll see"

_We're standing in a light that won't fade,  
>Tomorrow's coming but this won't change,<br>Cause some days stay gold forever.  
>The memory of being here with you,<br>Is one I'm gonna take my life through,  
>Cause some days stay gold forever.<em>

William Stafford hopped from foot to foot, as silly as a court jester, along the dining room of the small cottage that he and Mary Stafford, nee Boleyn, shared. His stepson, Henry, smiled at him from where he sat, legs languidly stretched across the table. He had grown so tall, and so fast!

"Don't worry, Father. Cat is with mother, and she doesn't sound in pain"

"That's because your mother is very brave" William retorted, "She – "

But he never got to finish his sentence, for his stepdaughter Catherine, slender as a willow-reed and pretty as her mother, emerged from the bedroom he and her mother shared. She smiled knowingly when she saw him leaping about the room, and brushed down her simple grey wool skirt.

"You can go in now" she said warmly, "All is well"

William beamed in relief and nigh pushed past the poor young girl to see his wife and their first child together. Mary sat up in bed with her golden hair loose about her, rosy cheeked and heavy eyed, but smiling glowingly. He rushed to her and kissed her hair, peered at the bundle in her arms. Their newborn babe squinted up at him, fussing, with a small rosebud mouth and his hazel brown hair and the dark eyes of birth.

"A daughter" Mary confirmed, seeing his quizzical look, "Just as you guessed"

William's smile grew and he kissed her again, this time on her lips, "Well done, my love. Thank you"

She laughed, a pretty, musical laugh, "Would you like to hold her?"

William cradled the girl gently, warily, in his arms, his eyes softening with love at the sight of her, "Will we call her Anne, like we said?"

"Yes. Please" Mary nodded fervently, and William nodded in turn.

"She will never be as loved as she is in this moment" he murmured. Mary squeezed his hand.

"Here's to many more" she chuckled wryly, and closed her eyes to sleep.

_I won't, I won't let your memory go cause your colors they burn so bright,_  
><em>Who knows, who knows what tomorrow will hold but I know that we'll be alright<em>

_'Cause we're_  
><em>Butterflies, butterflies..we were meant to fly,<em>  
><em>You and I, you and I..colors in the sky,<em>  
><em>We could rule the world someday, somehow but we'll never be as bright as we are now.<em>

"Francis...what are we?" Anne Seymour raised her gaze to meet that of her lover's, whose chest she was sprawled across. They had been sleeping together for nearly half a year now, and, despite the fact that she was married, Anne was beginning to fall for her dark, dashing lover._  
><em>

Francis Bryan raised a quizzical brow, "We're adulterers. Is that what you meant?" he knew it was not. He didn't like to talk after sex, usually, but Anne was different. Him and Anne knew a lot about each other by now.

"No. Are we just...lovers? Or are we more than that?"

"You mean, is this a relationship?"

"Yes. That is what I mean" she swept up her long red-brown hair, a movement that he observed with interest. Francis looked thoughtfully at her. He didn't give himself up easily; women were demons and many of them had turned his head before breaking his heart. He somehow did not have such inhibitions with Anne – and he felt sorry for her, being married to such a cold fish as Edward Seymour.

"Yes, I suppose it is" he hesitated, with a wicked grin, "For today, at least"

"Francis!" she laughed, pinching the tender skin under his ear with her nails to make him shriek in pain, "I mean it!"

"Yes!" he cried, rubbing the mark she had left, "Yes, alright it is!"

She grinned, satisfied, and moved away from him, "Oh, good. That's what I wanted to hear"

_We're standing in a light that won't fade,  
>Tomorrow's coming but this won't change,<br>Cause some days stay gold forever.  
>The memory of being here with you,<br>Is one I'm gonna take my life through,  
>Cause some days stay gold forever.<em>


	49. Colours of the Wind

AN: Lady Eleanor Boleyn's random but awesome Kitty Howard- centric story to Colours of the Wind from Disney's Pocohontas.

_You think I'm an ignorant savage**  
><strong>And you've been so many places**  
><strong>I guess it must be so**  
><strong>But still I cannot see**  
><strong>If the savage one is me**  
><strong>How can there be so much that you don't know?**  
><strong>You don't know ..._

Edward Seymour watched as Kitty Howard licked her lips, just lightly, just enough to moisten them, before she answered the beckoning of His Grace, the Duke of Suffolk and approached the dais, curtsying to the King.

"My Lord," Her voice was thin, breathy. She sounded like an unsophisticated child; someone who was awestruck at being in the presence of England's ageing King. Edward grimaced at the sound of it. Was this really a good idea? Would King Henry really fall for this simpleton?

Little did Edward know that Kitty liked it even less than he did. She hated herself for it. She, Katherine Howard, wasn't unsophisticated. She knew dancing and music and fashion almost as well as any one of the other Court ladies, she was sure of it.

However, the Duke of Suffolk was adamant that it was her wildness and childish spontaneity that would appeal to the King, so Kitty was determined to present an even stronger façade of that than she usually did. Edward Seymour knew it too, so he held his tongue and left Katherine to continue with what she was doing.

And the Duke did seem to have a point. As Kitty talked to His Majesty, making sure to chatter more idly than she usually did, she saw his eyes lingering on her; sensed his breathing speeding up. She couldn't see under the grand table, but she was sure that his loins were stirring at the same rate as his breathing.

And then the Duke was leaning in, breaking the spell she was beginning to weave around His Majesty, "Go, Katherine," he breathed in her ear, "Don't ruin your good work by staying too long."

Knowing he was right, Kitty made her excuses and curtsied, hurrying away before the King could detain her. However, because she could feel His Majesty's eyes on her, she made sure to stop and talk briefly to one of the other young girls, Anne Basset, letting her high laughter peal just a touch more readily than usual.

_You think you own whatever land you land on**  
><strong>The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim**  
><strong>But I know every rock and tree and creature**  
><strong>Has a life, has a spirit, has a name_

_You think the only people who are people**  
><strong>Are the people who look and think like you**  
><strong>But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger**  
><strong>You'll learn things you never knew you never knew_

Henry watched the strawberry-blonde girl, Kitty, out of sight, unable to help himself from showing such an interest in her. Her bright, inquisitive eyes, her luscious lips, her ready laughter – which was even now pealing high above the musicians soft tune – reminded him so much of his little sister Princess Mary, at the age of thirteen or fourteen. The gay, soft-hearted girl he had brought out into the world after their father's death and ordered to be feted at his side; feted alongside him and his Queen, his first love, the Spanish Princess, Catalina.

He hadn't imagined that any Howard girl could ever be that innocent. For this Katherine was a Howard. Her father and….well…the…the Witch's mother had been siblings. They had never got along particularly well, but they had been siblings. The same Howard blood ran in this English Rose's veins as had run in Black Nan's.

But perhaps this girl would be different. She hadn't been abroad, after all, for all her father was Lord Lieutenant in Calais. She wouldn't have been poisoned against him by the rumours in the French Court. Maybe this Howard girl would be an innocent, despite her blood.

Henry was looking forward to finding out.

_Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon**  
><strong>Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned?**  
><strong>Can you sing with all the voices of the mountains?**  
><strong>Can you paint with all the colours of the wind?**  
><strong>Can you paint with all the colours of the wind?_

_Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest**  
><strong>Come taste the sun-sweet berries of the Earth**  
><strong>Come roll in all the riches all around you**  
><strong>And for once, never wonder what they're worth_

Charles Brandon rode up behind his oldest friend and drew rein beside him. Henry was watching the Queen, little Queen Katherine, playing along the shores of the lake with her Maids of Honour, an indulgent smile on his lips.

"She's a very pretty girl, Henry. You've made a wi-good choice there," he ventured, catching himself just in time. He was happy that Kitty made Henry happy, but never in a month of Sundays would he catch himself calling her wise. She wasn't. She was one of the silliest girls he had ever seen.

Luckily, Henry didn't notice his hesitation. He turned to him, a wide grin on his face, "She is, isn't she, Charles? She's a treasure, she really is. Do you know, she asked me the other day why squirrels live in trees? I really don't believe Kitty's been taught anything other than music or dance."

"Hmm," Charles murmured, not wanting to disappoint his friend by contradicting his view that ignorance made Kitty a treasure, but feeling the courtier in him squirm in discomfort as the Queen let Joan Bulmer fling a handful of mud at her, ruining what was clearly a very costly dress of cloth of silver trimmed with rose velvet. No doubt Henry would just laugh and shower his darling in a dozen new dresses to make up for it, but Charles couldn't help but be thanking that his Katherine had more sense. He might be wealthy, but even he didn't have the money to give his wife as many dresses as she wanted. Neither would Henry, if Kitty kept on the way she was going. The Treasury was emptier than either of them cared to admit.

But Henry didn't let that bother him. Laughing tolerantly, he called out to his young wife, "All right, Kitty. That's enough, _Rosa Mea. _Come out, come on. We've still got a long ride ahead of us…and I thought you wanted to race me?"

"Oh yes!" Katherine squealed, picking up her muddied skirts and skipping back towards them, leaning in to kiss Henry as a groom hoisted her back up into the saddle. Henry petted her luxuriant tresses gently.

"What a state you've got yourself into," he chided softly. Kitty glanced down, suddenly slightly abashed at the sight of the stains, "I'm sorry. I didn't realise it was that bad."

"It's all right, Kitty darling. You can have another just like it. A dozen more just like it. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful!" Her Majesty cried, spurring her horse forward as her delighted laughter pealed. The King chased after her, roaring merrily and Charles had no choice but to follow.

_The rainstorm and the river are my brothers**  
><strong>The heron and the otter are my friends**  
><strong>And we are all connected to each other**  
><strong>In a circle, in a hoop that never ends_

_How high will the sycamore grow?**  
><strong>If you cut it down, then you'll never know**  
><strong>And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon_

Kitty felt her long strawberry-blonde curls stream out behind her as she kicked her horse into a thundering gallop and screamed for joy. There was something else in her scream though. It was the scream of a stuck pig; of any trapped animal. For she did feel trapped. She admired the King; of course she did. She admired him, and she loved the jewels and dresses that he showered her in, but she didn't love him. She couldn't love him.

Not only was he thrice her age; old enough to be her father, but he treated her as though she was just a silly little girl; a simple-minded, over-indulged child. A child he could distract with baubles and trinkets and all the trappings of rank. And she had to pretend she was that girl.

She had to play her part as Henry's trophy bride; his childish Queen, when instead, she was a woman. A woman coursing with passion. Passion that the King could no longer satisfy.

Thank God for Thomas Culpepper. Thank God for him. He understood what she was; what she hated being; what she wanted to be. He could release her passion; satisfy it, match it in a way that no one else ever could. He, of all the men she had once considered taking as her lovers, understood her. He saw Kitty, not Katherine, the trophy wife, or Kitty, the thornless child-wife, but Kitty. Just Kitty. Plain old Kitty Howard. He saw the woman she wanted to be.

No wonder she could never have given him up. And why should she? She was Queen of England. Her husband was the King. He'd had plenty of mistresses in his time. It was what Kings did. What Royals did. Why shouldn't she have just the one? Just Thomas. Thomas, who could make her role as England's scorned, spoiled Child Queen, bearable.

With that thought in mind, she slipped back into her expected persona and threw Henry an impish smile – a child's smile – and continued to spur her horse away from him, prolonging his chase of her just that little bit longer. As a naughty child might do.

_For whether we are white or copper skinned**  
><strong>We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains**  
><strong>We need to paint with all the colours of the wind_

_You can own the Earth and still**  
><strong>All you'll own is Earth until**  
><strong>You can paint with all the colours of the wind_


	50. Winter Winds

**A/N: Hi, GreenField here. Thanks for the compliments on our last few chapters, they were greatly appreciated. This is Anne of Cleves/Cromwell to Winter Winds by Mumford and Sons, one of my favourite bands. Please review. By the way, Cromwell wasn't actually alive at this point, but it is fanfiction, so...I thought I'd just write it anyway!**

_As the winter winds litter London with lonely hearts  
>Oh the warmth in your eyes swept me into your arms<br>Was it love or fear of the cold that led us through the night?  
>For every kiss your beauty trumped my doubt<em>

"Mister Cromwell? I did not expect to see you here"

Her accent was thick, and she spoke carefully, as if afraid of taking one step out of turn. She looked even lovelier than before. Being separated from Henry had given her the independence she had always craved, and given her a new spring to her step and a light in her eyes. She wore furs to shield her from the cold, and a red gown trimmed with gold. Her brown eyes were soft and warm as always, and he could just see her dull gold hair shining beneath her coif. How had Henry had the gall to call her a Flanders mare? She was a lovely creature, Cromwell thought, quite lovely. He had always thought so.

"No" he shuffled his feet awkwardly, "I thought...I thought I might see how you are settling in?"

"Oh, very well, thank you, Mister Cromwell" she smiled at him, momentarily stunning him with her bright molten eyes, "It was good of you to come so far from court on my behalf"

"I – I have missed seeing you about court. We were good friends"

"Yes. Yes, we were" she looked up at him like a little girl, suddenly looking terribly lost and frightfully alone, "I am glad you came here"

Cromwell did not know how to reply. Anne could think of nothing more to say either. She looked at him with worry in her eyes.

"Would it be wrong if we...would it be wrong of you to stay? For dinner, I mean?"

"No" he answered a little too quickly, "No, not at all"

He stayed for much more than dinner.

_And my head told my heart_  
><em>"Let love grow"<em>  
><em>But my heart told my head<em>  
><em>"This time no<em>  
><em>This time no"<em>

At first, he was fearful of investing too much of himself in her. His wife, his Elizabeth, had been dead many years, and it had broken him. What if he lost Anne the way he had lost Elizabeth? He could not go through that again, and he had lost his daughters too. He had lost the other Anne, too. Oh, he hadn't loved her, not like he had loved Elizabeth, but there had been some attraction there, something in her eyes that had made him want to fall to his knees before her.

He didn't want to love Anne of Cleves. If the King ever found out, both of them would be dead. But everytime his head cautioned him against loving her, his heart replied with the notion that it was too late, that he already did love her. He knew it was true.

_We'll be washed and buried one day my girl_  
><em>And the time we were given will be left for the world<em>  
><em>The flesh that lived and loved will be eaten by plague<em>  
><em>So let the memories be good for those who stay<em>

_And my head told my heart_  
><em>"Let love grow"<em>  
><em>But my heart told my head<em>  
><em>"This time no"<em>  
><em>Yes, my heart told my head<em>  
><em>"This time no<em>  
><em>This time no"<em>

"We should not be doing this, should we?" Anne asked him. He had made his excuses at court again – not only did he want to be with Anne, but he simply couldn't abide the new Queen – that foolish chit of a girl was so much less of a Queen than Anne was. He and Anne were laying in bed together, and he was playing with her soft golden hair. She looked even prettier with it loose; he wished she could wear it like that more often.

"No, we shouldn't" Cromwell agreed, "But I don't care. What's the point in living if you don't enjoy life?"

"I think you are right" Anne agreed, cocking her head to listen to the birdsong outside, "I wish we could tell everyone about us"

"So do I. I would like to marry you, one day"

Her face lit up, "Would you?"

"Yes, of course" he smiled, kissed her lips, "I shouldn't want to live in sin with you forever"

Anne giggled, "Yes" her face fell, "But the King would not allow it"

"No. He would not. It has to stay a secret"

"I do not mind" Anne said thoughtfully, "As long as we are together for some years yet"

"We will be" Cromwell promised, smiling, "Of course we will be"

_Oh the shame that sent me off from the God that I once loved_  
><em>Was the same that sent me into your arms<em>  
><em>Oh and pestilence is won when you are lost and I am gone<em>  
><em>And no hope, no hope will overcome<em>

_And if your strife strikes at your sleep_  
><em>Remember spring swaps snow for leaves<em>  
><em>You'll be happy and wholesome again<em>  
><em>When the city clears and sun ascends<em>

He had not believed in God for some time after Elizabeth's death. He had indeed turned to religion again in recent years, but resentfully, as a sulky child apologises to a wronged parent. Being with Anne had made him truly believe again. God takes away, but then he gives, and he gives something that, although it cannot replace what has been taken, sometimes makes it seem as though all is well, as though the world is once again at peace.

Anne was the sun in his life now, obscuring the dark clouds that threatened his livelihood. She always would be the sun in his life, he decided, for as long as he lived, because he loved her.

And no matter how much his head warned him against heartbreak, he refused to listen.

_And my head told my heart_  
><em>"Let love grow"<em>  
><em>But my heart told my head<em>  
><em>"This time no"<em>

_And my head told my heart_  
><em>"Let love grow"<em>  
><em>But my heart told my head<em>  
><em>"This time no<em>  
><em>This time no"<em>


	51. The Point of No Return

**A/N: Hi, GreenField here! Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter! This is The Point of No Return from The Phantom of the Opera, with a pairing of Thomas Seymour/ Anne Seymour (nee Stanhope). Please review.**

_You have come here  
>In pursuit of your deepest urge<br>In pursuit of that wish which till now  
>Has been silent<br>Silent. _

When Anne Seymour entered the rooms of her brother-in-law, she was not quite sure what to expect.

She had received his message to meet her there, and although she thought she might possibly know what he wanted, she couldn't be sure. She could never be sure with Tom, though she had known him for many years, and wondered more than once what her life would have been like if she had married him rather than Edward.

"Oh, good. You came" Thomas smiled his wolfish grin, eyeing her smugly. Anne was not cowed by his attitude. If there was one thing she knew better than anything, it was how to handle men. Smoothing out her crimson skirt and bodice, she took a few steps further into the candlelit room.

"Your note was intriguing" she said casually, in answer to his unspoken question. Thomas laughed.

"Was it? I thought that you must surely know why you are here"

Anne straightened, dignified, "Of course not"

"Playing the innocent lamb today, are we?" he taunted, "We both know what you really want. And that's why you are here"

_I have brought you  
>That our passions may fuse and merge<br>In your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defences  
>Completely succumbed to me<br>Now you are here with me  
>No second thoughts<br>You've decided  
>Decided. <em>

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean" Anne persisted. They had moved a few steps closer to one another without her noticing. She took a step back, suppressing a smile. She did so love a dance of desire.

"What do you dream about, Anne?" he asked abruptly, still smiling his all-knowing smile. Anne's dark eyes snapped to his and fixed themselves there.

"I dream about all sorts of things" she replied vaguely, playing with the necklace whose magnificent ruby rested on her collarbone.

"What do you fantasise about then, Anne? When you lay in your cold bed at night next to my wet fish of a brother, what is your fantasy?"

Anne laughed, harshly, "I don't have any. There is no point to dreams and fantasies. If you want something, then you must take it"

"A man's attitude" Tom observed, "But I believe that you have fulfilled one of your fantasies just by being here, in this room, alone with me in the dead of night. Am I correct?"

"You know nothing about me or my life, dear Tom. That is all I can conclude"

_Past the point of no return_  
><em>No backward glances<em>  
><em>Our games of make-believe are at an end.<em>

_Past all thought of if or when  
>No use resisting<br>Abandon thought and let the dream descend_

_What raging fire shall flood the soul_  
><em>What rich desire unlocks it's door<em>  
><em>What sweet seduction lies before us?<em>

_Past the point of no return  
>The final threshold<br>What warm unspoken secrets  
>Will we learn<br>Beyond the point of no return?_

"Of course I know about your life, Anne. I've lived with Edward, I can feel the way you feel. Bored. Lonely. Lustful" he reached out, moving her hand away from her necklace so that her arms swung, loose and defenceless, by her sides. She smiled sensuously into his gaze.

"Who says that I feel any of those things? I make my own amusement"

"Oh, yes, I had quite forgotten. Francis Bryan, wasn't it? And Henry of Surrey, most recently?" Tom asked innocently, "But they are both gone from court now, I hear"

"They are" she gave no more information than this, though the frustrated Thomas longed for a deeper insight into her mind.

"Then you need fresh amusement. And I am here, willing to provide it" his hand strayed to her neck, caressing the smooth white skin.

"But if I am not willing to take it...then we may have a problem"

"We may. But you are willing, are you not? Thinking about the two of us together...I know you want it, too"

_You have brought me  
>To that moment when words run dry<br>To that moment when speech disappears  
>Into silence<br>Silence. _

Anne could not reply to the suggestion. She suddenly realised, though she had secretly known all along, that she _was _willing, she always had been willing. Of course she had. She and Tom were similar people – ruled by their need for power, passion and possession. They had been leading up to this moment for years and, now that they were there, words were not needed.

As his palm moved to her face, Anne turned her head slightly to kiss his palm, lips soft and warm against his skin. They stayed frozen, both of them lost in the heat of the moment.

_I have come here,_  
><em>Hardly knowing the reason why<em>  
><em>In my mind I've already imagined<em>  
><em>Our bodies entwining<em>  
><em>Defenceless and silent,<em>  
><em>Now I am here with you<em>  
><em>No second thoughts<em>  
><em>I've decided<em>  
><em>Decided.<em>

"Yes" she whispered at last, still against his palm, "Yes, I am willing"

"You would not have come here if you hadn't been" Thomas concurred. She closed her eyes briefly, pulled away from him slowly.

"I had already decided, hadn't I?" she looked suddenly amused, and so did Thomas.

"Yes" he agreed, "I think we both decided many years ago, that day we danced the Volte"

Anne remembered it well, a night when Edward had been ill and she had looked to Tom to be her partner. Everytime he had touched her her skin had burst into flame, and even once they were apart again each patch of her skin seemed to hold on to the impression his hands had made there. She had been wearing pink and gold, and he had told her how lovely she was, how Edward did not deserve her. And that night she had lain in bed beside her husband and realised that he was right, that she was too good for Edward, and the burning desire that she had to be loved needed to be fulfilled if she was to continue in this miserable marriage. It was Tom who had changed her, all those years ago, and now it was Tom who would finally put a seal on that change.

_Past the point of no return_  
><em>No going back now<em>  
><em>Our passion-play has now at last begun.<em>

_Past all thought of right or wrong_  
><em>One final question<em>  
><em>How long should we two wait before we're one?<em>

_When will the blood begin to race_  
><em>The sleeping bud burst into bloom<em>  
><em>When will the flames at last consume us?<em>

Thomas lifted her coif from her head to allow her mahogany hair to tumble loose, touching each curl of hair with a look of wonder upon his face. He traced the outline of her lips before moving in to kiss her, his tongue sliding with ease between her hungry, parted lips.

Anne's body suddenly yearned towards his, pressing in to him, hands clawing at his doublet as though to tear it off herself. Thomas smiled against her lips.

They would not go back. And they would not regret it._  
><em>

_Past the point of no return  
>The final threshold<br>The bridge is crossed  
>So stand and watch it burn<br>We've passed the point of no return._


	52. Behind Blue Eyes

**A/N: Anne Boleyn/Charles Brandon to Behind Blue Eyes by the Who. A Lady Eleanor Boleyn chapter :)**

Charles Brandon stormed down the corridor to the Queen's apartments. Barely bothering to knock, much less bow to her, he met her eye fearlessly as she gasped and demanded to know what he was doing treating her with so little formality. He unrolled the parchment he was carrying and thrust it beneath her nose.

"This, Madam, is the warrant for your arrest. You are charged with committing adultery with Mark Smeaton, Sir Henry Norris and William are also charged with committing incest with your brother, Lord Rochford Both Smeaton and Brereton have already confessed their guilt. I, along with these guards, have come at the King's command to conduct you to the Tower, there to abide during His Majesty's pleasure. "

His voice was hard, unforgiving. It was even harder than it needed to be. But, no, it wasn't. It needed to be this hard. It needed to be this hard, just in case. Just in case his voice failed him and someone guessed. Even after all this time, even the merest whisper of suspicion could be enough to get him banished from Court at the very least.

He heard Anne's ladies gasp. In fact, one of them started crying softly. Her cousin Madge Shelton probably.

But Anne herself was calm, "Very well, My Lord Suffolk. If that is His Majesty's pleasure. I shall do as you say. I choose Mistress Wyatt and Mistress Shelton to attend me in the Tower," she answered, drawing herself up, "If you could just wait outside whilst we prepare, please?"

_No one knows what it's like**  
><strong>To be the bad man**  
><strong>To be the sad man**  
><strong>Behind blue eyes**  
><strong>And no one knows**  
><strong>What it's like to be hated**  
><strong>To be fated to telling only lies_

He caught her eye briefly as he nodded. There, just where he had expected to find it, was the turmoil that was missing from her voice. Her eyes – her beautiful dark blue eyes – were aching with pain, disbelief and sorrow. The same pain that was reflected in his own. Oh, curse Henry for ever making him do this! Curse him for falling for that milksop of a girl, Jane Seymour! Curse him for losing patience with Anne, his true sweetheart, in this all-consuming quest for an heir. Curse him for falling for Anne in the first place!

But no. He couldn't do that. He couldn't condemn his best friend for doing exactly what he had done in the first place.

"Anne…"

He couldn't let her go. He couldn't let her go without saying it. She nodded.

"Come with me, Lord Suffolk. The rest of you, pack my things, please. Gentlemen," she gestured to the guards, "Outside, please."

So strong was her resolve, her new-found queenly dignity, that none of them even thought of questioning her orders.

That same dignity deserted her as soon as she and Charles were alone, however.

"How could you? How could you, Charles? How could you not even_ try_?" She screamed, looking as though she wanted to fly at his throat and tear it out. He held up his hands in a futile attempt at self-defence.

"Anne…please…"

"No! You know it's not true! You know it! You know I never betrayed His Majesty like that! Not with them! Not with them!"

_But my dreams they aren't as empty**  
><strong>As my conscience seems to be**  
><strong>I have hours, only lonely**  
><strong>My love is vengeance**  
><strong>That's never freeNo one knows what it's like**  
><strong>To feel these feelings**  
><strong>Like I do, and I blame you!**  
><strong>No one bites back as hard**  
><strong>On their anger**  
><strong>None of my pain and woe**  
><strong>Can show through_

"_Not with them!" _The words hung in the air between them, goading him. Suddenly, he was bellowing too; bellowing at her, releasing all of the stress and tension of the last few weeks on to her gorgeous ebony head.

"Do you think this is easy for me, Anna-Maria? Do you think I'm _enjoying _this? Because let me tell you one thing – it damn well is not! It damn well is not!"

"Incest? You couldn't even fight the incest charge for me? You're the Duke of Suffolk, for God's sake! You're Henry's closest friend!" Anne cried, as if she hadn't even heard him. He, in his turn, ignored her words, continuing, "You know full well why I couldn't! If I had, Henry would have wondered why! He might have decided to investigate my relationship with you! Mine, Anne! Mine! Then we really would have been in trouble, wouldn't we? Wouldn't we…mine own little -"

"Don't you dare call me that! Don't you _dare, _Charles Brandon!"

She cut him off with a screech of hatred, flying at him, thrashing, kicking and punching. He caught her on reflex, caught her and crushed her against him in what had to be their hardest embrace yet.

"All right! All right! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! You know I didn't mean it!"

"I know, I know. I'm just…I'm just so scared, Charles. What's going to happen? To me, to Elizabeth? To my little Lisabelle? Once I'm gone?"

"Hush. Hush, Anna. Anna. It's going to be all right. I promise."

"No, it's not, Charles. It's not. Don't pretend it will be. Adultery in a Queen is treason. High treason. If Henry's accusing me of that, then he wants me dead. He wants me dead! God knows what he's going to do to Lisabelle once I'm gone. God knows. And she'll never know me. She'll never know me to remember me. Henry will never let anyone mention my name; she'll never know me. She'll never know me! My own daughter! My own daughter!"

Anne burst into tears and Charles did the only thing he could do. He took off her hood and stroked her raven hair soothingly; stroked it as tenderly as only he or her brother George could.

"She'll know you, Anne," he vowed. "She'll know you. Henry may not want to tell her of you, but I will. I'll take care of Lisabelle. Henry won't be able to hurt her without getting past me first, and we're still close enough friends that he won't try. I'll take care of Lisabelle and I'll tell her of you. I'll tell her of her mother; of her mother Queen Anne Boleyn. Of her mother, the bravest and most beautiful Queen England has ever known."

At his words, Anne sniffed and looked up at him with a watery smile.

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course I would. I'd do anything for you. I'd do anything for you, _Your Majesty_," Charles promised, before leaning in to trap her lips with his in one last passionate stolen kiss. Despite herself, she gave in to him, yielded to his advances and responded hungrily. She was saying farewell; saying farewell in a way that words never could.

_No one knows what it's like**  
><strong>To be mistreated, to be defeated**  
><strong>Behind blue eyes**  
><strong>No one knows how to say**  
><strong>That they're sorry and don't worry**  
><strong>I'm not telling liesNo one knows what it's like**  
><strong>To be the bad man, to be the sad man**  
><strong>Behind blue eyes._


	53. The Times They Are AChangin

_AN: This is Henry Brandon/Eleanor Boleyn to Bob Dylan's "The Times They Are A-Changin'". Eleanor discovers her youngest daughter is flirting with the Earl of Hertford, Edward Seymour…NB: I've kept Edward Seymour's first son by Anne Stanhope alive, so he's only two years younger than Anne Brandon, rather than four. Set Christmas 1550. By the awesome Lady Eleanor Boleyn._

**Come gather 'round people  
>Wherever you roam<br>And admit that the waters  
>Around you have grown<br>And accept it that soon  
>You'll be drenched to the bone<br>If your time to you  
>Is worth savin'<br>Then you better start swimmin'  
>Or you'll sink like a stone<br>For the times they are a-changin'.**

I'd been through a lot in the 35 years of my life. I'd watched my sister entrance the King and flown to the very top of the pyramid alongside her. I'd become one of the most powerful women in England. Then I'd nearly lost it all. I'd lost almost everything I cared for. I'd lost my brother, my sister, my Queen. In fact, I'd very nearly lost the will to live. If it hadn't been for Henry, my wonderful husband Henry, and our beautiful children, Margaret, Anne, George and William (though the latter wasn't born then), I probably would have died.

So I knew better than anyone how treacherous a place the Court could be. But even I wasn't prepared for being caught up again in the power struggles that were taking place in the new King's Court. I hadn't intended to be. But when my fifteen year old daughter started to enjoy the company of the Duke of Somerset's thirteen year old son, I realised I would be. I realised I would be and I hated it.

The feeling swept over me at Christmas 1550, when Anne, William, Henry and I had gone to Court, though my eldest son George had stayed at our old home, Tattershall, with his new bride, his cousin, the Lady Jane Grey, as the young couple got to know each other. Margaret was married as well, so had wanted to spend Christmas with her family.

I was standing to one side, a tumbler of wine in my hand and watching the younger couples dance, when a familiar peal of laughter reached my ears. Turning towards it, I caught sight of Anne's honey-brown hair swinging out behind her as she spun flirtatiously around her partner and began to smile. She was so like her aunt.

However, when I realised who she was flirting with, the smile vanished from my face in an instant.

**Come writers and critics  
>Who prophesize with your pen<br>And keep your eyes wide  
>The chance won't come again<br>And don't speak too soon  
>For the wheel's still in spin<br>And there's no tellin' who  
>That it's namin'<br>For the loser now  
>Will be later to win<br>For the times they are a-changin'.**

I would have gone over and pulled them apart with my own hands, if Henry hadn't seen me stiffen and come up behind me at precisely that moment. He slipped his arms around my waist and nuzzled my hair.

"My Lady Duchess," he murmured, kissing the nape of my neck gently, trying to ease my tension. Though I didn't pull away, I shook my head slightly, just enough to tell him that I wasn't in the mood. Not now. Not after what I had just seen.

"What's wrong? It's Christmas. You should be happy."

"Have you seen who Anne's dancing with?" I hissed.

"Yes, it's the Earl of Hertford. So?"

"So? So he's a Seymour, that's what! His father helped supplant my sister. He helped her fall; helped his milksop of a sister take her rightful place at King Henry's side. His family's the reason we're kneeling to King Edward now and not King John."

"John?" Henry asked, sounding confused. I managed a smile, "It would always have been John. After John, Duke of Lancaster. And a second Princess would have been Philippa. Anne loved the story of his love for Katherine Sywnford…and she always dreamed of being like Good Queen Philippa."

My voice trailed off as the memories overcame me. Then I remembered what we had been discussing. My voice went hard. "I'm never letting Anne marry that boy. There's no way in Hell I'll ever do it."

"Eleanor, you can't hold the boy's parentage against him. He's an innocent."

"Huh!" I cut Henry off impatiently, "With an infatuation for an aunt, a father like His Grace of Somerset and a mother like Anne Stanhope? I highly doubt that!"

My voice was just a fraction too loud. The courtiers around us threw us puzzled looks. Henry quickly grabbed my waist again and steered me for the door, all the while whispering in my ear.

"Besides, who's to say that one dance will come to anything? Anne's only fifteen. And young Lord Hertford's even younger. Even if they do like each other, it's probably nothing more than a Christmas flirtation. Let it be, Eleanor, please."

"Have you forgotten we were married at fifteen, My Lord Suffolk?" I retorted, "And anyway, you won't have seen the way Anne was looking at him. You men never do. I saw it and I'm not happy with it."

Henry fell silent for a moment and I was about to finish my tirade savagely when he suddenly murmured, "You weren't like this with Margaret or George. You let them marry whoever they wanted."

I swung round on Henry, grateful that we were no longer in the ballroom. "Have you forgotten that we chose George's bride for him? Of course I wasn't going to argue against Jane. I might not like your sister particularly, but she has brought up three beautiful girls. I can't deny that. And as for Margaret, well, _she_ never chose to want a Seymour, Thank God. I would have been the same with her if she had. Those Seymours were born my enemies and they will die my enemies. No child of mine will ever marry a Seymour!"

**Come senators, congressmen**  
><strong>Please heed the call<strong>  
><strong>Don't stand in the doorway<strong>  
><strong>Don't block up the hall<strong>  
><strong>For he that gets hurt<strong>  
><strong>Will be he who has stalled<strong>  
><strong>There's a battle outside<strong>  
><strong>And it is ragin'<strong>  
><strong>It'll soon shake your windows<strong>  
><strong>And rattle your walls<strong>  
><strong>For the times they are a-changin'.<strong>

**Come mothers and fathers**  
><strong>Throughout the land<strong>  
><strong>And don't criticize<strong>  
><strong>What you can't understand<strong>  
><strong>Your sons and your daughters<strong>  
><strong>Are beyond your command<strong>  
><strong>Your old road is<strong>  
><strong>Rapidly agin'<strong>  
><strong>Please get out of the new one<strong>  
><strong>If you can't lend your hand<strong>  
><strong>For the times they are a-changin'.<strong>

"They're my children too!" Henry snapped. Before either of us knew what he was doing, he had grabbed my arm and was digging his fingers into it; so hard it was sure to leave bruises the next morning. I gasped. He'd never been this brutal to me before. Never.

"They are my children and you, Eleanor Brandon, are my wife! Might I remind you that I am the Duke of Suffolk, not you? You might have been the Queen's favourite sister once, but that was a long time ago. That Queen is dead. She's been dead nearly fifteen years. Don't you think it's time to stop being loyal to her memory? She tried to stop us getting together, remember. Your sister's judgement was never exactly her strongest point!"

"_Crack!" _

I wrenched myself free and slapped Henry across the face with all the strength I could muster.

"Don't you ever dare speak of my sister like that again, Henry Brandon!" I screamed. "Don't you dare! After all, it's not as if you can talk! Your father seduced the Princess of England, the Dowager Queen of France! Before her mourning was over, might I add? So don't you ever talk to me of poor judgement!"

Tears blurred my vision and threatened to spill over. My voice was shaking; threatening to crack altogether. I was trembling all over; trembling with ire. Henry sent me a look of pure poison.

All of a sudden, though, he melted. He pulled himself together and reached out his hand to me, "Eleanor. Eleanor, darling, I'm sorry." For an instant, I was reminded of my sister and the late King, except that I was playing the King and Henry was playing my sister. I hesitated.

"Henry..," I started. Coming across to me, he took me into his arms and stroked my hair, rubbing my back soothingly.

"Shh, love. I know. I know. I shouldn't have spoken of your sister like that. I know. I wish I could take it back. Truly. But the thing is, you have to understand, the world's changed since she was Queen. A different family's risen to power now. Like it or not, the Seymours are the first family in England now. They're the first family in England now and we've got to work with them. We've got to."

"I don't want to," I protested. I knew I sounded like a sulky child, but I couldn't help it. I'd been raised to hate the Seymours. I'd been raised to it and, after what they'd helped King Henry do to my sister, I would never be able to work past that prejudice. Henry exhaled slowly.

"I know, Eleanor, I know," he repeated patiently, "But believe me, I'm saying this for your own good. You escaped your sister's downfall by the skin of your teeth. If you refuse to work with the Seymours now, God only knows what could happen to you. And Anne wouldn't want anything to happen to you, would she? No. she'd want you here, safe and sound, where you can protect her daughter Elizabeth."

"Lisabelle doesn't need me anymore. She's seventeen, for Goodness' Sake," I argued. Henry scoffed lightly.

"Really? And what about the Thomas Seymour scandal two years ago? Did she not need you then? Did you not manage to protect her good name by letting her come to stay with you after Queen Katherine's death? I think you did and I think your sister would be very grateful to you. So don't you tell me Elizabeth doesn't need you, hmm?"

"When you put it like that…."I conceded. Henry chuckled and hugged me tight.

"I told you. So please, believe me. You're needed here, more than you know. But you can't afford to work against Edward Seymour, not for something as trivial as a flirtation over the Christmas period. He's the King's Uncle, as well as Duke of Somerset and Lord Protector. Just let the children be and, if it gets serious, we'll talk to them as well as to him. All right?"

Exhaling slowly, I let the fight go out of me and leaned into his touch, "All right."

"Good. Thank you, my love. You know I only have our best interests at heart."

"I know," I assured him, forcing a smile to my lips as I leaned up to give him a conciliatory kiss. He responded briefly, then took my arm and led me back into the Great Hall, ready to present a united front as we continued to celebrate Christmas with the rest of King Edward's Court.

**The line it is drawn  
>The curse it is cast<br>The slow one now  
>Will later be fast<br>As the present now  
>Will later be past<br>The order is  
>Rapidly fadin'<br>And the first one now  
>Will later be last<br>For the times they are a-changin'.**


	54. Roxanne

**A/N: Hi! GreenField here. This is maybe a little odd as an idea, but I'm hoping it works out. This is Mary Boleyn/William Stafford to Roxanne by The Police, my Mum's favourite band . Please review, thank you for the previous!**

_Roxanne  
>You don't have to put on the red light<br>Those days are over  
>You don't have to sell your body to the night<br>Roxanne  
>You don't have to wear that dress tonight<br>Walk the streets for money  
>You don't care if it's wrong or if it's right<em>

Mary was excited. She loved her quite, simple life with William, but the only thing it did not provide her was an excuse to dress up! Tonight, however, they were having guests for dinner – only the farmer and his wife from the plot of land nearby, a nice enough couple, though not the sort Mary was used to associating with – and she could make herself as pretty as she pleased.

She had chosen a blue gown, slashed with pale gold silk that had always been one of her favourites. It accentuated her figure to its finest form, and Anne had often commented with raised, disdainful eyebrows on how it pushed her breasts into full and undeniable view. She wondered if Anne could see her now, and wished that Anne herself could be attending the dinner.

"Can I try some of that, Mama?" Catherine pleaded. She was fifteen and plenty old enough to attend the dinner, but, in Mary's eyes, certainly not old enough to wear rouge and lip oil.

"No, Catherine. You're far too young"

Catherine sat on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs, "You don't normally wear all those colours, Mama"

"I haven't worn them since your Aunt Anne died. I found them buried at the bottom of one of my trunks and just had to use them"

Catherine knew better than to comment on her mother's unusually frivolous mood, "But you look so much prettier without it, Mama"

"I quite agree" William was leaning against the doorway to their bedchamber, eyeing Mary not with desire as she had hoped, but with what looked like...anger, "Cat, could you leave us for a minute?"

"Of course. I'll go and check on Henry, I bet he isn't dressed suitably" she swept out in a worryingly ladylike way and William closed the door behind her.

"Do you like it?" Mary asked with a smile and a twirl. A frown settled on William's face.

"Mary, what on earth are you doing?"

_Roxanne  
>You don't have to put on the red light<br>Roxanne  
>You don't have to put on the red light<em>

_Roxanne put on the red light_  
><em>Roxanne put on the red light<em>  
><em>Roxanne put on the red light<em>  
><em>Roxanne put on the red light<em>  
><em>Roxanne put on the red light<em>

Mary frowned too, "What do you mean? I wanted to dress up for dinner. Is there something wrong?"

William sighed heavily, passed a weary hand over his face, "Mary, you aren't at court anymore"

"I'm not a fool, I know that. If I was at court that would mean my brother and sister were still alive"

"Is that why you're acting in this way? Because you miss Anne and George and the life you used to lead?"

"No! William, I don't have a clue what you're talking about. Acting in what way?"

"Look at you!" William gestured to the close-fitting gown, the curve of her breasts, the crimson colour on her cheeks and lips, "I just don't understand what you're trying to achieve. You're not a whore anymore, Mary"

"What?" Mary froze as though he had slapped her around the face, "What do you mean, _anymore_? You know I had no choice! I was young, I didn't have a choice. You knew that when we ran away together"

_I loved you since I knew you  
>I wouldn't talk down to you<br>I have to tell you just how I feel  
>I won't share you with another boy<br>I know my mind is made up  
>So put away your makeup<em>

"I'm not criticising the girl you used to be. I understand the mistakes you made, I understand that the power was not in your hands. I do, and that's why I married you in spite of everything you were. I love you, I always did love you. I'm just saying you don't need to be that girl now"

"I'm not trying to be!" Mary exclaimed angrily, "God's blood, William, I just wanted to wear a dress for dinner! That is the only reason for me wearing this dress, alright? Because _I wanted to_"

"And the oils on your face?"

"I just wanted to look nice for dinner!" Mary shrieked, losing her temper, "Stop it, just stop treating me like a child, PLEASE"

"I wasn't trying to!" William cried, exasperated, "I'm trying to tell you that I love you and you don't need to dress like that because you'd be beautiful whatever you were wearing. That's all"

Mary's eyes welled up and her lower lip began to tremble, "Are you ashamed of me?"

_Told you once I won't tell you again_  
><em>It's a bad way<em>

_Roxanne  
>You don't have to put on the red light<br>Roxanne  
>You don't have to put on the red light<em>

"For God's sake, Mary! Of course I'm not ashamed of you!" she was looking at him so pathetically, that William couldn't quite think of anything else to say to persuade her that she didn't need to be that girl anymore, the girl who had whored for two Kings. She had no need to do that ever again.

"Oh, I can't discuss this any further. I've said what I wanted to say. Ignore me if that's what you want" he said at last, tired of the argument and wishing that she would realise how lovely she naturally was, "I'll see you at dinner"

As he left, slamming the door behind him, Mary moved to look before the mirror again, the mirror she had insisted on having. She could be a little vain, she realised, but she had been the court beauty for years. She sometimes wanted to recapture that. She supposed that that was what William meant.

She took out a square of linen and dipped it in the cloth, wiping it across her face to remove the stain of the makeup from her face.

Mary Boleyn had taken the first step towards leaving her old self behind.

_You don't have to put on the red light_  
><em>Roxanne put on the red light<em>  
><em>Roxanne put on the red light<em>  
><em>Roxanne put on the red light<em>  
><em>Roxanne put on the red light<em>  
><em>Roxanne put on the red light<em>  
><em>Roxanne put on the red light<em>  
><em>Roxanne put on the red light<em>  
><em>Roxanne put on the red light<em>  
><em>Roxanne put on the red light<em>  
><em>You don't have to put on the red light<em>  
><em>Roxanne put on the red light<em>  
><em>You don't have to put on the red light<em>  
><em>Roxanne put on the red light<em>  
><em>Roxanne put on the red light<em>  
><em>Roxanne put on the red light<em>


	55. Daylight

**A/N: Hi, GreenField here! I'm sorry, I've resisted doing a George/Elizabeth for a little while, but I got Maroon 5's new album on Monday and now I have to write this songfic! AU in which Elizabeth and George know that he is going to be arrested when the morning comes on 2****nd**** May 1536. George's POV.**

_Here I am waiting, I'll have to leave soon  
>Why am I holding on?<br>We knew this would come, we knew it all along  
>How did it come so fast?<br>This is our last night but it's late  
>And I'm trying not to sleep<br>Cause I know, when I wake  
>I will have to slip away<em>

"You're sure of this?" the tears have gone from my lover's face, and instead there rests a fierce determination to save me in any way she possibly can. She pushes her flaming red hair back from her pale, damp face and fixes her eyes on me.

"Yes" I reply wearily, head in my hands as I sit before the fire, "Yes, I'm sure. Bryan tipped me off"

"Bryan could be lying" her voice holds a thin, reedy shred of hope. I shake my head, look up at her.

"Why would he lie?"

"He doesn't like you"

"He wouldn't lie about this. Like it or not, they're coming for me and for Anne, and the pair of us will be dead within the month"

She rushes to me, grabs my hands, anger in her eyes, "Don't say that! Don't you dare to say that!"

"You and I both know that it is true"

She gulps back fresh tears and, still holding my hands, draws me with her to the window where darkness has fallen on our last night together.

"I've never wanted daylight not to come as much I do now" I murmur, turning my face into her hair to smell the rosewater scentof her curls. She turns her face to mine and rests her palm against my cheek.

"Come to bed" she whispers, and I don't regret the fact that this is what it has come to; my last night of freedom, spent in bed with the mother of my children and the love of my life, her warm kisses on my lips and skin and her soft body moving against my own.

_And when the daylight comes I'll have to go_  
><em>But tonight I'm gonna hold you so close<em>  
><em>Cause in the daylight we'll be on our own<em>  
><em>But tonight I need to hold you so close<em>  
><em>Ooh-woah, ooh-woah, ooh-woah<em>  
><em>Ooh-woah, ooh-woah, ooh-woah<em>

Later, as she surrenders to sleep at last, curled up in my arms, I hatch my plan. I will leave these rooms when day breaks; I don't want her to see it when they come for me, I don't want her to hear those vile charges and see them put chains on me. And I don't want to damage her reputation. I've kept her safe for all of these years and I will not ruin it now. That is the least I can do for her.

I pull her tighter against my chest, looking out of the window and praying that this night will last forever, that it can just be Elizabeth and me in our own private little world until the end of time.

But somehow, I don't think God is listening to me anymore.

_Here I am staring at your perfection  
>In my arms, so beautiful<br>The sky is getting bright the stars are burning out  
>Somebody slow it down<br>This is way too hard  
>Cause I know, when the sun comes up<br>I will leave, this is my last glance  
>That will soon be memory<br>_

She wakes as I begin to stroke her hair, committing the shade and texture of it to memory, and I curse myself for waking her. Now, I cannot protect her.

Her blue eyes, at first sleepily happy and uncomprehending, recall the situation and fill with despair. She puts her arms around my waist, lays her head on my chest.

"I don't know how to be without you around" she mumbles; I think she might be weeping again, "I don't know how to exist"

"Hey!" I say softly ,"Hey. Aren't you always telling me that you can take care of yourself?"

She looks up at me with pathetic eyes, "I can, but that doesn't mean I want to"

The sky is getting lighter. Both our pairs of eyes slide towards the window.

_And when the daylight comes I'll have to go_  
><em>But tonight I'm gonna hold you so close<em>  
><em>Cause in the daylight we'll be on our own<em>  
><em>But tonight I need to hold you so close<em>  
><em>Ooh-woah, ooh-woah, ooh-woah<em>  
><em>Ooh-woah, ooh-woah, ooh-woah<em>

_I never wanted to stop_  
><em>Because I don't wanna start all over, start all over<em>  
><em>I was afraid of the dark<em>  
><em>But now it's all that I want, all that I want, all that<em>  
><em>I want<em>

"Are you scared too?" she asks, "You don't have to be brave for me, you know. You're allowed to be scared"

"I'm terrified" I whisper truthfully, and she nods calmly, like it makes her feel better to hear those two words coming from me.

"There seems to be so much to say...but I don't know how to say it"

"I know, I know" I smile down at her, "You are beautiful"

"Don't"

"You are. You're the most beautiful woman in the world. You light up whenever you enter a room, and you sparkle like a jewel. You're the cleverest and bravest woman I have ever known. You've given me two beautiful girls and I couldn't have asked for more from you"

"I'll wait for you" she tells me tearfully, "I'll wait for you until I die because I love you, I always have loved you and I love you with all my heart. I wouldn't be me without you. You've made me who I am now and I wouldn't trade what we have had for anything. I love you because you're handsome and witty and clever, because you write me poetry and give me gifts and gave me my girls. And I will be grateful to you for that for the rest of my life"

I kiss her forehead. Our tears mingle. There is nothing more to say.

"Oh look" I murmur softly against her hair, "The sun rises. Daylight breaks"

_And when the daylight comes I'll have to go_  
><em>But tonight I'm gonna hold you so close<em>  
><em>Cause in the daylight we'll be on our own<em>  
><em>But tonight I need to hold you so close<em>  
><em>Ooh-woah, ooh-woah, ooh-woah<em>  
><em>Ooh-woah, ooh-woah, ooh-woah<em>

_And when the daylight comes I'll have to go_  
><em>But tonight I'm gonna hold you so close<em>  
><em>Cause in the daylight we'll be on our own<em>  
><em>But tonight I need to hold you so close<em>  
><em>Ooh-woah, ooh-woah, ooh-woah<em>  
><em>Ooh-woah, ooh-woah, ooh-woah<em>


	56. Goodbye My Lover

_AN: Time for another Yorkist one from Lady Eleanor Boleyn. Richard III/Anne Neville from both POVs set to James Blunt's Goodbye My Lover. March 1485. Anything you recognise, I don't own. Inspired by Sharon Penman's "The Sunne In Splendour"._

**Did I disappoint you or let you down?  
>Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?<br>'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,  
>Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.<br>So I took what's mine by eternal right.  
>Took your soul out into the night.<br>It may be over but it won't stop there,  
>I am here for you if you'd only care.<strong>

Anne Neville lay in the sumptuous four-poster bed, struggling not to cough. She couldn't cough. A single cough would lead to a fit of hawking coughs that racked her body, stained her sheets and nightgown with blood and, worst of all, disturbed Richard's sleep. He needed his sleep so desperately. He was so exhausted. He had so many troubles.

There was the Lancastrian Rebel, Henry Tudor, to be dealt with. There was the Succession. Now that Edward, their little Ned, Prince of Wales, was dead, Richard had no son. That was Anne's fault, she knew. She ought to have given him a nursery full of sons and daughters. God knows she would have loved to. But the difficult labour in 1473 had put paid to that. It meant that God had only given them Edward. Their cherished Edward.

And now even he was dead. He died from a rupture, alone and in terrible pain. The memory of her little boy's agonising last hours still brought tears to Anne's eyes. She should have been with him. She should have been with him!

But she hadn't been. She had been at Richard's side, as befitted his wife and Queen.

But now Richard had no son and she was barren. People were whispering, beginning to talk. Some said Richard should never have become King at all, that he had usurped his young nephew's rightful throne. Others said that he should put Anne aside and marry again, to his niece, the Lady Elizabeth, or to a foreign Princess. Anyone who could give him the son that she, Anne, couldn't.

But he wouldn't. Anne knew he wouldn't. He loved her too much for that. He was too loyal to her. Family meant too much to him for him even to reproach her for having failed to give him a son other than Ned. A son who could have taken Ned's place in the Succession. He never reproached her. He still came to her bed at night, still held her in his arms and soothed her to sleep, the way he had always done. Anne was grateful for that.

But he couldn't ease her guilt. No one could. She wasn't a useful Queen, a true partner who could help him with the matters of State and Policy that were troubling him so. She had always done that in the North, back when they were just the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester. Back before she had sickened. Now, however, her grief for Ned and her own poor health were only adding to his troubles. He was too kind to say so, or even to hint at it, but she knew they were.

Anne rolled over and feebly laid her hand on Richard's. His eyelids fluttered at her touch, but he didn't wake. Good. Let him sleep. Let him steal a few hours of that rest that he needed so desperately.

For her part, Anne closed her eyes and let the memory of the first time they had met wash over her.

**You touched my heart you touched my soul.  
>You changed my life and all my goals.<br>And love is blind and that I knew when,  
>My heart was blinded by you.<br>I've kissed your lips and held your hand.  
>Shared your dreams and shared your bed.<br>I know you well, I know your smell.  
>I've been addicted to you.<strong>

_Anne was crying in the stables, her face buried in the hay. The sweet smell of it had always soothed her at home in Warwick. However, this wasn't Warwick. This was Fotheringhay, the Duke of York's house. She could have sworn that even the hay smelt different here._

"_Lady Anne? Are you all right?"_

_The soft question startled her. Hastily rubbing her face with her sleeve, she rolled over. She found a boy of about eight kneeling beside her. On closer inspection, she realised that he was Lord Richard, the Duke's youngest son. Abruptly, she sat up. Earl's daughters didn't cry in front of gentlemen, no matter how young they were._

"_I'm fine, thank you, Lord Richard."_

"_No, you're not. You wouldn't be crying if you were."_

"_Well, why ask, if you're not going to believe me when I give you an answer?" she retorted._

"_I wanted to give you a chance to tell me for yourself. Now," he put his arm around her quivering shoulders, "What's wrong?"_

"_What isn't? Anne sobbed, suddenly unable to stop herself. She was only four, after all. "We're not at home, Mama's not here, I'm worried about Papa and Izzie's being horrid!"_

"_Ah," Richard murmured. He hesitated for a moment, then pulled her gently into his arms. Too shocked to speak, Anne let him. After a few seconds, she relaxed into his hold. She had to admit that she liked being held like this. Mama and Papa never did. Nor did Izzie, or at least, not often. She was too busy playing at being a young lady to think about mothering her little sister._

"_Do you know what makes me feel better when I'm feeling sad?" Richard asked after a while._

_Anne shook her head, "No."_

"_I like to ride my pony across the fields. Shall we do that? Together?"_

"_I can't ride," Anne confessed. She blushed. She so wanted to do what Richard suggested, but she hadn't learnt to ride yet. Yet again, she cursed how little she was. Richard looked stunned for a moment and then remembered that she was four years younger than he was._

"_Well…I think the stable dog's had some puppies recently," he said brightly, "Shall we go and see?"_

_Anne could feel her eyes lighting up. She nodded eagerly, "Yes please! Lord Richard," she added, suddenly remembering her manners._

"_Oh, please, call me Dickon! Everyone else does!" he exclaimed, scrambling up from his knees and holding out his hand to her. She took it, managing a watery smile._

"_Well, everyone calls me Annie. You'd better do the same!"_

"_Come on then, Annie," Richard – Dickon – laughed. Laughing too, Anne skipped along beside him as they went in search of the new-born puppies._

**Goodbye my lover.  
>Goodbye my friend.<br>You have been the one.  
>You have been the one for me.<strong>

Anne sighed. Richard never been any less caring than he had that day. That was why she loved him so. And now she was going to leave him. Anne was no fool. She knew she was dying and dying quickly. That's why she'd let him come to her tonight, even though it posed a risk to his health. She'd wanted the chance to say goodbye.

Forcing herself upright – just upright enough to lean over him - she pressed a feathery kiss to his temple, "Goodbye, Dickon," she whispered, using the childhood nickname she had long since abandoned. She had abandoned it when no one else as a way of making him hers. Now, in what would be one of the last times she ever formed his name with her lips, she used it again.

"Goodbye, Dickon. Goodbye, my love."

Then she sank back down on to the bed and closed her eyes, giving in to her exhaustion.

Her eyes were never to open again.

**.I am a dreamer and when I wake,  
>You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take.<br>And as you move on, remember me,  
>Remember us and all we used to be<br>I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile.  
>I've watched you sleeping for a while.<br>I'd be the father of your child.  
>I'd spend a lifetime with you.<br>I know your fears and you know mine.  
>We've had our doubts but now we're fine,<br>And I love you, I swear that's true.  
>I cannot live without you.<br>**

Unbeknown to Anne, Richard wasn't asleep. He was lying with his eyes lightly shut, watching her through closed eyelids. He saw the torment on her face and knew she had to be thinking of Ned. He heard the pain in her voice as she leaned over him and kissed him goodbye. He felt her lips brush his temple and was hard-pressed to keep from crying. But he couldn't cry. Kings never cried. Besides, he owed it to her. She'd feel guilty if she knew he was still awake. She was so desperate for him to get some rest.

But how could he rest? How could he, when he knew, when they both knew, that her days were numbered? How could he close his eyes knowing, as he did, that he might miss his chance to say goodbye to her whilst he slept?

"Please, Lord," he prayed, "Spare her. Spare her this torment and restore her to health. I need her at my side. She's stood by me through thick and thin, as we promised before you all those years ago. Now let me have her for just a little longer. I beg you, Lord. I cannot do my duty as your anointed King if I don't have my Queen, my Queen Anne Neville, at my side. I beg you, Lord. I beg you."

To no avail. Even as he listened, Anne's breathing slowed, then ceased altogether. He lay as though frozen. He wanted to take her in his arms and shake the life back into her. He wanted to keep her with him.

But he couldn't. Richard was nothing if not a pragmatist. He knew it was impossible.

So, instead, he merely leaned over her and locked her rapidly cooling lips with his in a final passionate kiss, letting the tears fall from his eyes and flow freely down his cheeks. They splashed off his face and down on to hers.

"Anne! Anne! Anne!"

He repeated her name in a litany of heartbroken cries.

**Goodbye my lover.  
>Goodbye my friend.<br>You have been the one.  
>You have been the one for I still hold your hand in my mine.<br>In my mine when I'm asleep.  
>And I will bear my soul in time,<br>When I'm kneeling at your feet.  
><strong>

Three months later, Richard was fighting for his country, his crown and his life. His sword was swinging fiercely, even its burnished iron blade seemingly glowing with his desperation. His great white horse reared, flailing out with its legs. A spear embedded itself in the soft flesh of the beast's belly.

Good horseman though he was, Richard was thrown off when the animal bucked in pain before collapsing to the ground.

He struggled to rise, but then, all of a sudden, he saw her. Anne.

The fight went out of him. He mouthed her name. She smiled and held out her hand to him.

"I know, Richard, I know. But it's too late. There's nothing you can do. Come with me. Come with me."

Without another word, Richard stepped out of his aching body and grabbed hold of the extended hand. The two of them flew up to God's Kingdom hand in hand.

**Goodbye my lover.  
>Goodbye my friend.<br>You have been the one.  
>You have been the one for me.I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.<br>I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.**


	57. No Good Deed

**A/N: Hi, GreenField here. This is No Good Deed, from my favourite musical Wicked, about Anne in the Tower. Any Wicked lover will see that some lyrics have been omitted, due to their relevance to the show. Please review and I hope you enjoy.**

_Let his flesh not be torn  
>Let his blood leave no stain<br>Though they beat him  
>Let him feel no pain<br>Let his bones never break  
>And however they try<br>To destroy him  
>Let him never die,<br>Let him never die..._

Anne Boleyn, once Queen of England, was on her knees in the Tower of London, Bible open on her lap and her lips blurring with the speed of their silent prayer. She had to save George, her beloved brother George, and poor dear Thomas Wyatt who had once loved her so and written her poems, and poor Harry Norris who so adored her...but most of all George. She had to save George. To protect him from every eventuality.

"He cannot die, don't let him die, don't hurt him, keep him safe, keep him _safe_..." her voice was growing louder in its desperation, and the maids with her were looking at her. She could hear them snickering at her, though she tried to block them out. How dare they laugh at her, when she had been their Queen just two days ago!

_Ugh! What good is this chanting?  
>I don't even know what I'm reading!<br>I don't even know which trick I ought to try  
>Where are you?<br>Already dead or bleeding?  
>One more disaster I can add to my<br>Generous supply!_

What if they had killed George already? Maybe they had done away with him quickly because he would not speak against her. Maybe she would never see him again.

A sob filled her throat and made her choke on it. Opening her dark eyes, now molten with tears, she picked up the Bible and flung it away until it landed, pages fluttering and crumpled, on the other side of the room. Lady Kingston walked to it and picked it up, looking shocked and scandalised as she tried to restore it to its previous tidiness. Anne would not normally have done such a thing, but she feared that the doubts and terrors that spoke in her head were driving her quite mad. She felt capable of a lot of things when she was scared, always had done.

She wrapped her slender arms about herself, staring out of the window. Oh, how she longed to see his dear face looking up at her from the grounds below, the merry eyes twinkling, the teasing voice as he called to her.

"Come along, Mademoiselle!" he would say, his brotherly pet name for her, "What _are_ you doing up there?"

But things like that did not happen to her. Every time she tried to do something good, all these years she had tried to be a good Queen, and nothing had ever gone right for her! Not since Elizabeth's birth. Nothing.

_No good deed goes unpunished  
>No act of charity goes unresented<br>No good deed goes unpunished  
>That's my new creed<em>

_My road of good intentions  
>Led where such roads always lead<br>No good deed  
>Goes unpunished!<em>

She remembered seeing a fortune teller when she was at the court of France. This woman claimed to know everything, but she did not tell them about their lives. She had only given them things to think about, little sayings that she said she hoped would caution them from making big mistakes in their lives. Anne and Mary had gone together, and the woman had told Mary that she must remember – 'It is a man's world, and no woman can hope to be anything but a pawn in their games'. But she had said something very different to Anne, two things; first, that 'Pride comes before a fall'; second, that 'No good deed goes unpunished'. It was of this latter saying that Anne thought of in the cold Tower room, and she realised just how much sense that little old soothsayer had made.

_One question haunts and hurts_  
><em>Too much, too much to mention,<em>  
><em>Was I really seeking good<em>  
><em>Or just seeking attention?<em>  
><em>Is that all good deeds are<em>  
><em>When looked at with an ice-cold eye?<em>  
><em>If that's all good deeds are<em>  
><em>Maybe that's the reason why!...<em>

She wondered if, after all, she had just been being vain, letting ambition get the better of her as always. As a girl, and the youngest girl in her family at that, she was used to being overlooked. Then she got to court and she found...she found that she was not meant to be overlooked. Men did not overlook her. She could have power over them – she could have power over everyone, when she really pushed herself.

That was what had motivated her to aim an arrow at the King's heart. But she had fallen in love with him, slowly and suddenly and completely unexpectedly. She would have done anything for him. Still would. But he had fallen out of love with her, and nothing could change that.

Was it because she had chosen to be a Queen that George now rotted in a prison cell? She hadn't meant for that to happen, not her precious baby brother. She had only wanted to change the country, to do good things like promote Reform and build schools and stop the greed of churchmen! She had done those things! So why had it all gone so wrong? Why had it ended like this?

_No good deed goes unpunished  
>All helpful urges should be circumvented<br>No good deed goes unpunished  
>Sure, I meant well -<br>Well, look at what well-meant did:  
>All right, enough - so be it<br>So be it, then...  
>Let all Oz be agreed<br>I'm wicked through and through  
>Since I can not succeed<br>In saving you  
>I promise no good deed<br>Will I attempt to do again,  
>Ever again<em>

"I tried to be good" she whispered, "Oh, I did so try to be good. Maybe my methods weren't always good and Godly, maybe my ambition got the better of me _sometimes_, but I wanted to help. I wanted to make the country a better place"

The ladies were sniggering at her again. Like she cared about a bunch of peasants like them. Brainless sluts. They couldn't have been Queen of England if they'd _tried_.

"If they want to think I'm a witch, if they want to think that I hurt the King and slept with a million men including my own brother then so be it. I give up. I don't want the glory anymore. I don't want it. And I don't care what they do to me, I will not do what they ask of me. I won't be good. I tried that. It didn't work. If they hurt my brother, I'll kill them. I'll kill the whole world if it keeps George safe. You won't see me for dust. No good deed goes unpunished. Well, she was right, after all these years. So no more good deeds. No more"

_No good deed  
>Will I do again!<em>


	58. You're All I Have

**A/N: So, I have a million other things that I should be doing right now, but I really wanted to right this – and I have some more motivation now that I know my awesome friend Laura who is doubtless reading this note likes the story! This is a George/Elizabeth songfic to You're All I Have by Snow Patrol. Set on 1st May 1536 – yet again. I love last-night stories.**

_Strain this chaos turn it into light  
>I've got to see you one last night<br>Before the lions take their share  
>Leave us in pieces, scattered everywhere <em>

"George? George, where are you going? George!" Anne shrieked, clinging onto her brother's arm. Her eyes were wide with an unspoken fear, "Where are you going? You can't leave me here waiting like this"

George's face softened; he patted her cheek gently, "Go to sleep, Mademoiselle. In the morning everything will be better"

Anne couldn't resist a smile at the childhood nickname, "But why did he leave? Why did he just go without a word?"

"I don't know" George looked tired, sick and tired of everything that Anne's rise had bought with it, "In the morning we'll know. Aurora's going to stay with you, isn't she?"

Anne nodded, "Yes. Yes, you're right. Go, then" a smile for her younger brother, the smile she reserved for him alone, "But wait. Where _are_ you going?"

"To Elizabeth" George replied, turning back in the doorway, "Before everything goes to Hell, I need my Elizabeth"

_Just give me a chance to hold on  
>Give me a chance to hold on<br>Give me a chance to hold on  
>Just give me something to hold onto<em>

_It's so clear now that you are all that I have_  
><em>I have no fear cos you are all that I have<em>  
><em>It's so clear now that you are all that I have<em>  
><em>I have no fear cos you are all that I have<em>

He was practically running to her room, because the voices in his head were starting to scare him; the voices that told him everything was going to end with the end of Henry's love for Anne, and there would be no way out of it.

_Elizabeth is the only thing you have when things get bad,_ the voice told him, _Your Elizabeth._

And he knew, all of a sudden, that the voice was right. Elizabeth was his world, and it was only when he was with her that he felt safe. Only when he was with her did he feel like the rest of the world didn't matter, because when they were alone he could laugh and sing to her and make her his own. Elizabeth was everything.

He ran faster.

_You're cinematic razor sharp_  
><em>A welcome arrow through the heart<em>  
><em>Under your skin feels like home<em>  
><em>Electric shocks on aching bones<em>

_Give me a chance to hold on_  
><em>Give me a chance to hold on<em>  
><em>Give me a chance to hold on<em>  
><em>Just give me something to hold onto<em>

She was waiting for him. He expected her to look worried, but of course, she didn't. She was hiding her worry for his sake, to make him stronger. She was good at doing that, when it really mattered. And that day – well, that day it mattered more than ever before.

"I've been waiting" she told him, smiling, "Are you alright?"

George wanted to tell her about the fear that was choking him, binding him, but when he looked in her beautiful blue eyes the fear suddenly left him. And a smile grew on his face, a smile that he had not expected nor one that she had anticipated. She moved towards him and took his hands.

"Tell me, tell me truthfully. Are you alright?" it was only then that he saw the anxiety in her eyes, hidden behind the glow of her loving smile.

There were no words to answer her, no words that could quite express how he felt. Instead, he pulled her to him, hard, and kissed her. He thought that she might, laughingly, push him away and get him to talk about what had happened at the joust that day, but she did not. She pulled him closer, twined her fingers through his hair.

And that was when he knew that she was as terrified as he was.

_It's so clear now that you are all that I have_  
><em>I have no fear cos you are all that I have<em>  
><em>It's so clear now that you are all that I have<em>  
><em>I have no fear cos you are all that I have<em>

_There is a darkness deep in you_  
><em>A frightening magic I cling to<em>

They lay in front of the fire, Elizabeth's fingertips still dancing through his hair, her eyes fixed on his face with a frightening earnestness.

"You always make me forget" he told her softly, "Every time something happens, something I don't want to think about, you make me forget. How do you do it?"

She laughed, a slow, lazy laugh, and stretched somewhat distractingly, throwing a pretty silhouette against the open orange flames, "I don't know. Maybe it's magic"

He laughed too, and kissed her again, "Somehow I don't think I'm going to be able to brush it off and forget about it this time"

The smile fell from her face; teeth caught at her lip, "I don't think you are either"

"Don't say that" he urged, the fear beginning to rise again, "If you're scared then I get scared. Let me pretend, just for a little longer, that all of this is going to go away"

Elizabeth's eyes burned for a moment, as if she was angry with the fact that anything could be allowed to scare him. She'd kill off the whole world to keep him safe, if she had to. They both knew it.

"Okay" she said slowly, "You're all I have. If it takes forgetting to keep you safe and sane, then I'll make you forget. I'll help you"

She pressed her lips to his one more time.

_Give me a chance to hold on  
>Give me a chance to hold on<br>Give me a chance to hold on  
>Just give me something to hold onto<em>

_It's so clear now that you are all that I have_  
><em>I have no fear now you are all that I have<em>  
><em>It's so clear now that you are all that I have<em>  
><em>I have no fear now you are all that I have<em>


	59. Think of Me

**A/N: Hi, GreenField! So my George/Elizabeth songfic yesterday inspired me to do one for this with Anne/Henry Percy. Plus I'm rediscovering my obsession with Phantom of the Opera, including the part where my heart melts everytime the Phantom sings. Sigh. Anyway, thanks for the reviews and please review!**

_Think of me, think of me fondly  
>When we've said goodbye<br>Remember me once in a while  
>Please promise me, you'll try<em>

Anne looked between the Cardinal and her husband, trying to hide her confusion, mask the hurt in her eyes.

"What do you mean? We are married, Cardinal. Nothing can change it" she reached out for Harry's hand, but he moved it, only slightly, almost imperceptibly out of her reach. Anne's heart skipped a beat, her throat choked with fear.

"The marriage remains invalid. Henry is engaged to marry Mary Talbot, daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury, at her earliest possible convenience. Therefore he was not available to make the decision to marry you" Wolsey sounded expressionless, as if he really didn't care that her heart was breaking right before his eyes. And perhaps he didn't.

"But married we are, your eminence, at our choosing" a flash of inspiration came to her, as they so often did, and she smiled triumphantly, "It was consummated too"

Harry's head jerked up, alarmed, "Anne – "

"Henry has neglected to tell me this" Wolsey frowned for a moment, but only a moment, "It has not been consummated"

"It has, Cardinal. I ought to know. I was there" she stuck out her chin, jutting it upwards, in a way that she always used to do when she was a child and wanted something badly. The gesture was not missed by Wolsey.

"Don't be stubborn, Mistress Anne. If Harry says it was not and you say that it was, people will just assume that you lay with another man"

"I - !" Anne was speechless, fuming at the insinuation, "No! Of course I didn't! Harry is my husband, I would never – "

"Henry is not your husband, Mistress Anne, and you would do best to forget the whole idea. Henry has promised to do so"

"Harry?" Anne hated how plaintive and forlorn her voice sounded, "Did you promise that?"

She saw the agony in his eyes for the first time as he reached out and gripped her hand, "Anne, I had to. I had to promise. I'm so sorry"

She swallowed tears, "If we both fought it they couldn't stop us, Harry, you know they couldn't – "

"I think you'll find that we could" Wolsey said coolly, "Say goodbye, Mistress Anne. Young Henry has to depart for Northumberland at once"

"You mean...you mean I never shall see you again?" Anne gulped, audibly now. She saw tears in Harry's eyes.

"I didn't want it to happen like this, Anne. I didn't want it to happen. I love you. I won't forget you"

This, his last goodbye. She jerked her hand free of him and glared up at him, hot tears now falling thick and fast over her pale face, "I hope you never forget me. I hope the memory of me haunts you every time you look at your new wife. I hope it kills you"

Harry looked stricken. He moved away from her, his own tears falling too, but hesitated in the doorway when her voice came to him, soft once again, and thick with sadness.

"Think of me" she whispered. He turned to look at her, heart heavy.

"I promise"

_Then you'll find that once again you long_  
><em>To take your heart back and be free<em>  
><em>If you'll ever find a moment<em>  
><em>Spare a thought for me<em>

Looking back on that day, Anne's chest still felt tight and her heart still ached. She longed for Harry with every bone in her body, and little could be done to cure it. She could forget it, sometimes, if she really tried. She could forget it if she looked into the eyes of her husband the King and saw his love for her radiating from him. But when she was alone, her husband and her waiting women and her siblings and her child all taken from her, alone in her bed at night, she thought of him. She wondered if he thought of her. Maybe he no longer did – he could have fallen for this Mary Talbot and not thought of Anne at all. She had not seen him in years.

_We never said our love was evergreen_  
><em>Or as unchanging as the sea<em>  
><em>But if you can still remember<em>  
><em>Stop and think of me<em>

She sometimes wished that she had told him how she felt. Of course, she had said that she loved him, but she hadn't said all the beautiful poetic things that sprung into her mind when they looked at each other. She recalled one day, when he had said to her;

"I shan't love anyone but you for the rest of my life, Anne. Know that".

She had smiled up at him in the sunshine, dappled green as they stood under leafy summer trees, and she had given him her heart. But she had not returned his sentiments. She wondered if that was why he had caved in so easily – because he wasn't sure that she loved him with the depth and passion of his love for her. But surely he remembered it, all those dances and smiles and that one precious, precious night in bed together after months of waiting? She remembered it, every detail. And God knew he had more time spare for remembering that she did.

_Think of all the things  
>We've shared and seen<br>Don't think about the way  
>Things might have been<em>

Their night together had been the first time for both of them, no matter what anyone else might say about her now. She was no whore, and never had been. That had been something she would never forget, and surely something that he could forget either? Nor could she forget their first kiss, the touch of his lips on hers beneath the stars, the sparks that fluttered up from her toes right to her head, making her giddy and warming her body the whole way through. Oh, how could she ever forget that! How could he! A life of kisses like those...nights like those...

But no. She was Queen now, she could not think about what might have been if she had been his Duchess. Thoughts like that were dangerous for both of them.

_Think of me, think of me waking_  
><em>Silent and resigned<em>  
><em>Imagine me trying too hard<em>  
><em>To put you from my mind<em>

She pulled the sheets closer to her, bathing in their warmth even though the night was a hot and sticky one. She laid her hand on her belly, feeling for the child that would either be her saviour or bring her downfall. How different things would have been if this child and, indeed, Elizabeth, had been Harry's children. He would not have cared to prefer a son or daughter, she knew. He had been perfect for her. And if this birth went wrong like the last...he would not rage and rave at her. He would hold her while she wept and tell her that it mattered not.

Stop thinking about him!

She told herself this over and over, but more memories assailed her and she couldn't quite rid herself of them.

_Recall those days, look back on all those times_  
><em>Think of those things we'll never do<em>  
><em>There will never be a day<em>  
><em>When I won't think of you<em>

Giving in, she rose from the bed and moved to the window, looking out on a starry night. She closed her eyes, imagining that she could see all the way to Northumberland, into Harry's bedchamber, where he lay wide awake and thinking of her as she was of him. She gave a little start at the sound of a rumble of thunder outside and noticed that dark clouds were scurrying across the moon, bringing rain with them. She jerked the casement window shut, breathing heavily.

It was a sign. She had told him to think of her, but she must not think of him. She would bring him danger if she did. She would bring them both danger if she did.

A sharp, sudden pain rose in her belly. She clutched at the bump feebly, knowing what was coming, knowing what the pain would bring.

Oh, Harry. Why couldn't it have been you?

_Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade_  
><em>They have their seasons, so do we<em>  
><em>But please promise me that sometimes<em>  
><em>You will think of me<em>


	60. Run

_AN: Lady Eleanor Boleyn. Lauren's been so productive lately that I thought I'd better get another one in to even things out a bit. Anne Boleyn/Princess Elizabeth mother/daughter to the wonderful song Run by Snow Patrol, which I don't own. I don't own the song Anne sings to Elizabeth, that's just a traditional song called "Strawberry Fair". Set somewhere between January and May 1536, when Anne knows something's wrong, but isn't sure what. Warning, if you're emotional, you may need some tissues handy…_

**'I'll sing it one last time for you  
>Then we really have to go<br>You've been the only thing that's right  
>In all I've done<strong>

**And I can barely look at you**  
><strong>But every single time I do<strong>  
><strong>I know we'll make it anywhere<strong>  
><strong>Away from here<strong>

"Sing, Mama! Sing!" Elizabeth begged her, looking up at her with those dark eyes; dark eyes so like her own. Anne knew she should be getting back, it was late. She'd had to fight so hard with Henry to have this day at Hatfield at all. She couldn't give him any reason to doubt her motives. Not now. Not now she'd lost her precious boy; her saving grace; her son. But one glance down at her little daughter's heart-shaped face and she couldn't find it in her to say no.

"One more song then, Lisabelle. One more. But then Mama really has to say goodbye."

Pacified, Elizabeth snuggled back into her arms, a confident smile on her face. Anne felt the warmth of her young body against hers and had to catch her to her. Just for a moment. After all, who knew when she'd get another chance to hold Elizabeth? Her beautiful, innocent Elizabeth, who knew nothing of life's cruelties?

"Mama! You hold me too tight!" Elizabeth protested.

Managing a chuckle that was more like a sob, Anne forced herself to loosen her hold on her daughter and began to croon a nursery rhyme,

"_As I was going to Strawberry Fair,  
>Singing, singing, buttercups and daisies,<br>I met a maiden taking her wares, fol-de-dee.  
>Her eyes were blue and golden her hair,<br>As she went on to Strawberry Fair."_

_"Ri-fol, Ri-fol, Tol-de-riddle-li-do,_  
><em>Ri-fol, Ri-fol, Tol-de-riddle-dee."<em>

To Anne's astonishment, Elizabeth's piping voice joined hers in the chorus. She stared at her little girl, "Have you learnt the song too?"

Elizabeth nodded, "Yes, Mama. Lady Mary teached me. I make you proud?"

**Light up, light up  
>As if you have a choice<br>Even if you cannot hear my voice  
>I'll be right beside you, dear<strong>

"Yes, Lisabelle. Mama's proud. Mama will always be proud of you. Always."

Anne could have cried. How could she ever leave Elizabeth tonight? How could she ever leave her darling Lisabelle? Her clever little darling, who was looking up at her expectantly with those wonderful Boleyn eyes; the eyes that would probably cause her no end of trouble as she grew up. Anne wished she didn't have to. She wished she could stay here, at Hatfield, bringing her daughter up, teaching her new songs, new stories, new dances. Delighting in her successes, commiserating with her when she failed at something and indulging her shamelessly. She could never say no to this angelic child.

**Louder, louder  
>And we'll run for our lives<br>I can hardly speak, I understand  
>Why you can't raise your voice to say<strong>

**To think I might not see those eyes**  
><strong>Makes it so hard not to cry<strong>  
><strong>And as we say our long goodbyes<strong>  
><strong>I nearly do<strong>

But she couldn't stay. She knew she couldn't. However Henry was treating her, she was still the Queen of England. She was still the Boleyn Queen of England. She had to get back to Court and get herself back into the King's good graces. Back into his bed. She had to do it, or die trying. She owed it to the Boleyns, to the Howards and to herself.

So when she finished the song, she ignored Elizabeth's pleas for another and instead placed her on the floor before kneeling in front of her.

"Lisabelle, listen to me. Listen to Mama. I've got to go back to Court and see Papa. I've got to stay with him for a while. It might be a long while before I see you again. I don't know what will happen and I might not be able to visit for a long time. Do you understand?"

Yes, Mama. But I come to Court. I see you. See Papa."

Elizabeth's grave confidence; the confidence of being her father's precious rose; his Jewel of England, was enough to make tears prick at Anne's eyelids. How could she explain to Elizabeth that things were different now, that she, her mother, whom Elizabeth revered as intelligent, beautiful and the unchallenged Queen, was no longer invincible? That she was fighting to keep all she had gained over the past decade, perhaps even for her own life?

She couldn't. She, who had always been so good with words, couldn't find the words to tell her daughter what was happening.

So she merely reached out and pulled her daughter to her, stroking the rich coppery tresses as she whispered, "I hope so, Lisabelle. I hope so."

**Light up, light up  
>As if you have a choice<br>Even if you cannot hear my voice  
>I'll be right beside you, dear<strong>

**Louder, louder**  
><strong>And we'll run for our lives<strong>  
><strong>I can hardly speak, I understand<strong>  
><strong>Why you can't raise your voice to say<strong>

**Slower, slower**  
><strong>We don't have time for that<strong>  
><strong>All I want is to find an easier way<strong>  
><strong>To get out of our little heads<strong>

**Have heart, my dear**  
><strong>We're bound to be afraid<strong>  
><strong>Even if it's just for a few days<strong>  
><strong>Making up for all this mess<strong>

"Madam? Your carriage is outside. And it is time for Her Highness to retire."

Lady Bryan's voice broke into Anne's reverie and she started, before gathering herself and calling out, "A moment, Lady Bryan. Let us just say our farewells."

"Of course, Your Majesty." The elder woman withdrew and Anne turned back to her daughter.

"I hope we will see one another soon, Lisabelle, but that might not be the case. I don't know what will happen. But know this, my heart. I love you. I'll always love you."

"Love you, Mama." Elizabeth replied, throwing her arms around Anne's neck. Anne smiled and bent to kiss her baby girl, before continuing, "Thank you, Lisabelle. That means more than you know, darling. But now I need you to do something for me. I need you to be brave. I need you to be brave and always think the best of me. Whatever you hear about me, I need you to think the best of me. I need you to be good for Lady Bryan. And Papa. Whatever happens, never do anything to make Papa angry at you, if you can help it."

Anne could see the questions in Elizabeth's eyes, but, knowing she was running out of time, she hushed her.

"No questions, Lisabelle. Please. Do you understand what I've told you?"

"Yes Mama."

"Good. So will you do it for me? Will you promise to do it for me?"

"Yes, Mama. I promise."

"Good. Good girl," Anne found her voice was hoarse with barely-suppressed tears, but she managed to kiss her daughter in farewell as she murmured, "Now go with Lady Bryan and keep that promise for me. And remember, whatever happens, whatever you hear, I love you. Everything I do, I do for you. I love you with all my heart and I bid you never forget it."

"I won't, Mama!" Elizabeth promised fervently, before pressing another sloppy kiss on her mother's cheek and wriggling out of her arms. She skipped to the door and found Lady Bryan, who was already waiting for her.

Anne watched them out of sight, fighting the urge to call them back, to sweep Elizabeth up into her arms and never let her go. But she couldn't do that. Not only would it scare Elizabeth, but it wasn't what a Queen would do. And she was so desperate to show that, whatever she might have done in the past, she was capable of acting as a Queen should when it was required of her.

If she was going to go; if Henry was going to set her aside, then she would at least act the Queen right up until the very last minute. Right up until he actually stripped her of her title.

To that end, Anne waited until she was alone in her carriage and the thundering of the horse's hooves would mask the sound of her sobbing before she broke down into floods of tears.

**Light up, light up  
>As if you have a choice<br>Even if you cannot hear my voice  
>I'll be right beside you, dear<strong>


	61. Speak Now

_AN: Lady Eleanor Boleyn. AU story to Speak Now by the wonderful Taylor Swift. Set in 1523. To say any more would ruin it so Enjoy._

**I am not the kind of girl**

**Who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion**

**But you are not the kind of boy**

**Who should be marrying the wrong girl**

The large Church of St John in Northumberland was heaving with guests, so it was easy enough for the young woman in the dove-grey velvet cloak to sneak in unnoticed. Still not wanting to push her luck, she quickly took a seat near the aisle, and clamped her hands together, desperately trying to stop them trembling.

She was also having to fight back the last of her qualms. Was she really doing the right thing? Leaving Hever like this and riding for Northumberland, rather than Blickling, as she'd said she would… If her father found out, he'd kill her.

"_Hush!" _she told herself firmly, _"Papa's not going to kill you. Not if you can pull this off. He'll be thrilled to have a Countess for a daughter. And anyway, this is Henry. Harry. Your Harry. He's worth it. Whatever happens, he's worth it."_

**I sneak in and see your friends**

**And her snotty little family all dressed in pastel**

**And she is yelling at a bridesmaid**

**Somewhere back inside a room**

**Wearing a gown shaped like a pastry**

A faint shout and the unmistakeable "crack" of someone being slapped rang through the church. Startled, the young woman glanced up, but the woman next to her laid a reassuring hand on her knee, "Don't fret yourself, sweetheart. It's just Mary. She's nervous and her nerves always come out as bad temper."

Not wanting to betray herself, the girl nodded, shaking her head slightly as her neighbour continued, "But aren't you hot in that thick cloak of yours? Why don't you take it off?"

"But you can barely see with your hood up like that. At least take that down. This is the union of the Percys and the Talbots. It deserves everyone's full attention."

"I'm fine, thank you," she whispered, an edge of irritation entering her voice. Her neighbour shrugged and spread her hands, as if to say, "Please yourself. I've said my bit," but the young woman ignored her, instead focussing her attention on the young man who was standing at the altar. Henry Percy, heir to the Earldom of Northumberland.

**This is surely not what you thought it would be**

**I lose myself in a daydream**

**Where I stand and say**

**Don't say "Yes", run away now**

**I'll meet you when you're out of the church at the back door**

**Don't wait or say a single vow**

**You need to hear me out**

**And they said, "Speak now"**

As if he could feel her eyes on him, Henry half turned. Not much, but just enough. Just enough to let her see how close to tears he was, how lifeless his eyes were, the wan desperation in his face.

She locked eyes with him and, behind the covering security of her hood, sent him an encouraging half-smile. A smile that was supposed to say, "Hold on, Harry. You won't have to go through with this. I'll get you out of his. I promise. Just hold on and I'll get you out of this."

For a moment, some kind of recognition began to flicker in his eyes, but then the organ struck up, Lady Mary Talbot began swanning down the aisle on her father's arm and the moment was shattered.

**Fond gestures are exchanged**

**And the organ starts to play**

**A song that sounds like a death march**

**And I am hiding in the curtains**

**It seems that I was uninvited by your lovely bride-to-be**

**She floats down the aisle like a pageant queen**

**But I know you wish it was me,**

**You wish it was me,**

**Don't you?**

The family members and friends fell into a respectful silence as Lady Mary sailed down the aisle. The uninvited guest did the same, though a scornful smirk twisted her lips as the bride passed her. What a fool the Earl's daughter was. Did Mary really think she was going to get her fairy-tale ending? Well, she wouldn't! Not if she could help it. Not if Harry felt half the feelings for her that she felt for him.

And judging by the reluctance with which he took his new bride's hand, the half-anguished glance over his shoulder in her direction, she knew he did. She knew his heart was breaking and she could barely wait until she could release him from his role in this travesty of what was supposed to be a joyful occasion. She wished she could run down the aisle and take him away with her there and then. But she couldn't. If this was ever to work, then she had to follow protocol and protocol forbade her from doing that.

So she suffered in silence until the correct moment came.

**Don't say "Yes", run away now,**

**I'll meet you when you're out of the church at the back door.**

**Don't wait or say a single vow,**

**You need to hear me out,**

**And they said, "Speak now".**

**Don't say "Yes", run away now,**

**I'll meet you when you're out of the church at the back door.**

**Don't wait or say a single vow,**

**Your time is running out,**

**And they said, "Speak now".**

**Oh, la, la**

**Oh, oh**

**Say a single vow**

**I hear the preacher say, "Speak now or forever hold your peace"**

**There's the silence, there's my last chance.**

**I stand up with shaky hands, all eyes on me.**

At last the moment came. The officiating priest said, "If any one of the congregation doth know of a reason why this man and this woman may not be joined before God Almighty in holy matrimony, let him speak now or else forever hold his peace."

The young woman sprang to her feet, "I do, Father."

"Nonsense!" The Earl of Northumberland exploded, "Who is this?! There is no reason. I demand that this lunatic be removed at once!"

"Oh yes there is! There is every reason!" Throwing off her cloak, the young woman raised her head and exited the pew, standing in the aisle with her gently curving belly in plain sight, as she continued, " I am Anne Boleyn, daughter to the Ambassador Sir Thomas Boleyn and niece to the Duke of Norfolk. The reason Lord Percy cannot marry Lady Mary is because, four months ago, he married me. He married me in the sight of witnesses. What's more, he consummated the marriage. I am carrying his child."

**Horrified looks from everyone in the room**

**But I'm only looking at you.**

**I am not the kind of girl**

**Who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion**

**But you are not the kind of boy**

**Who should be marrying the wrong girl**

Ignoring everyone else around her, who had broken out into a furious mass of excited scandalised whispers, Anne locked eyes with the young man who still stood, as though turned to stone, by the altar.

"Harry, please. You know what you are to me. What you've always been to me. Are you going to deny it? Deny your marriage; deny your child, deny us and everything we once were?"

When he still stayed silent, Anne pressed on, "I've come back to you, My Lord. My Lord Northumberland. I'm giving you a second chance to stand by me. Are you going to let it slip through your fingers? Are you going to let them separate us again, like a scared little boy? Or are you going to stand by me like a real man would? Like the man I fell in love with would?"

"You love me?" Harry looked stunned. "After everything, after what I put you through, you still love me?"

"Why else would I be here, Harry? Yes, I love you, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I love you and I'd rather be your Countess than any other woman, even King Henry's Queen."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Anne knew she had taken a risk in uttering them. After all, if twisted, out of context, they might smack of treason. But she'd had to say them. She'd had to. It was the only way to reach Harry. She'd said them to him before, in the height of their passion for one another. She could only hope that he remembered them as fondly as she did.

A second later, she knew she had no more cause to worry. Harry wrenched his hand from that of Lady Mary Talbot and flew down the aisle towards her.

He caught her to him, pulling her flat against him. One of his hands cupped her belly, the other twined itself through her mass of dark curls. She wound her arms around his neck, not even bothering to hide her tears of relief.

The powerful kiss with which he pounded her lips, right there in front of his parents, jilted bride and the rest of the congregation, was the sweetest they had ever shared.

**So, don't say "Yes", run away now,**

**I'll meet you when you're out of the church at the back door.**

**Don't wait or say a single vow,**

**You need to hear me out,**

**And they said, "Speak now".**

**And you'll say "Let's run away now,**

**I'll meet you when I'm out of my tux at the back door.**

**Baby, I didn't say my vows,**

**So glad you were around**

**When they said, "Speak now".**


	62. You Got Me

**A/N: Hi, GreenField here! Thank you so much for all the reviews Princess Mary (Margaret in the TV show)/Charles Brandon to You Got Me by Colbie Caillat. It's an amazing song, you should all go and listen to it right now!**

_You're stuck on me and my laughing eyes  
>I can't pretend though I try to hide<br>I like you, I like you_

Princess Mary sat alone, a rare occurrence – everyone wanted to dance with the King's pretty flame-haired sister before she left for France and marriage. But she had managed to slip out of the crowd of colourful dancers and find a seat in the corner of the room, where she liked to observe. Her eyes were twinkling; she was trying not to laugh at the monstrosity of a dress that Lady Fitzwalter was wearing. It was really quite hideous.

Her eyes continued to scan the dancers until they fell on Charles Brandon, newly created Duke of Suffolk. Handsome, athletic, witty Charles Brandon, whom she had known for as long as she could remember. What had once been a child's adoration on her part had turned into something much more, and that was why she had made her bargain with Henry. When the French King was dead – which, pray God, would be soon after she married him – she could marry who she chose.

And she chose Charles Brandon.

_I think I felt my heart skip a beat_  
><em>I'm standing here and I can hardly breathe<em>  
><em>You got me yeah, you got me<em>

_The way you take my hand is just so sweet_  
><em>And that crooked smile of yours<em>  
><em>It knocks me off my feet<em>

Mary rose to her feet as he came towards her, honoured that he'd neglected his dance partner, who was a buxom blonde with an obvious desire to get Charles into her bed.

"A lovely lady like you shouldn't be standing on her own" Charles said sternly, smiling as he scolded her, "You should be dancing"

She turned her face up to his, blue eyes glowing appealingly, a little stubborn tilt to her chin that he secretly loved to see. It meant that she was up for a fight, and Charles had enjoyed his fights with Mary even when they were children.

"I don't want to dance" she waved a hand, gesturing to the assembled courtiers, "I mean, look at the _men_, Charles, look at them! Not one under thirty and all dull as ditchwater"

Charles couldn't help laughing, "I'm not having much luck with the women either. Have you seen Lady Fitzwalter's dress?"

Mary giggled delightedly, "Yes! Oh, isn't it just _awful_?"

They grinned at each other, then Mary looked back over to the dancers, namely the blonde that Charles had been dancing with before.

"What about that blonde girl? She is ever so pretty, and she clearly worships you"

"Does she?" Charles looked surprised, "Oh. She didn't give any inclination of it"

"Yes she did! Did you not see how she tugged her bodice down a little when you asked her to dance? And she was fluttering her eyelashes the whole Pavane, giving you those come-hither looks" Mary couldn't stop a hint of sulky jealousy creeping into her voice. Charles noted it, his grin growing wider.

"I did not notice it at all. I was too busy looking at you, and thinking how brightly your hair shines in the candlelight"

She raised a doubtful eyebrow, though her heart was beating fast, "Were you really?"

"Yes, I was" he held out his hand, "Come. Dance with me. I'm under thirty and I certainly hope you don't think _I'm _as dull as ditchwater"

She shrugged, taking his hand with a little smile, "That remains to be seen"

_Oh, I just can't get enough_  
><em>How much do I need to fill me up?<em>  
><em>It feels so good, it must be love<em>  
><em>It's everything that I've been dreaming of<em>

_I give up, I give in, I let go, let's begin_  
><em>'Cause no matter what I do<em>  
><em>Oh, my heart is filled with you<em>

"Which dance is your favourite?" Charles asked as they skipped and leapt in an energetic Galliard, Mary's hair falling out of it's pins beneath her coif.

"That's a dull question. Ask me something else" her eyes were bright with mirth. Charles chuckled.

"Alright. Are you coming with us on the hunt tomorrow?"

"Dull! Another"

"Fine. Why can I not stop thinking about you even when we're apart?"

_I can't imagine what it'd be like_  
><em>Living each day in this life<em>  
><em>Without you, without you<em>

_One look from you, I know you understand_  
><em>This mess we're in, you know is just so out of hand<em>

Mary froze, and Charles had to tug at her hand to pull her out of the crowd and avoid her ruining the steps of the other dances. He looked worried by her reaction.

"Mary? I'm sorry, did I go too far?" it wasn't like him to apologise, and it did nothing to stop the giddiness Mary suddenly felt. She closed her eyes briefly to stop the room spinning, and when she opened them again Charles' face was very close to hers. Colour rushed to her cheeks. It wasn't like her to be so dazzled by just a few words, and it was making him fret.

"Because you can't live without me" she said, suddenly triumphant, "Just like I can't live without you"

His face broke into a smile, "Yes! Yes, that's exactly it. Oh, Mary, I thought you felt the same, but I was never sure – "

"I've always felt the same! Of course I have. Oh, how _could_ you have ever thought any different?!" she was glowing, radiating joy and love, "So all these years of me so wanting to tell you I loved you and being too frightened have all been wasted!"

"You? You've never been frightened of anything" Charles laughed, reaching out to squeeze her hands in his own. They both self-consciously looked for the King, to see if he had noticed anything untoward, but he was dancing with Queen Catherine and had no mind for them.

_Oh, I just can't get enough_  
><em>How much do I need to fill me up?<em>  
><em>It feels so good, it must be love<em>  
><em>It's everything that I've been dreaming of<em>

_I give up, I give in, I let go, let's begin_  
><em>'Cause no matter what I do<em>  
><em>Oh, my heart is filled with you<em>

"I love you!" Mary cried exuberantly, "There, I've said it at last, Charles. I love you, I love you, I love you"

"And I have always loved you" Charles returned, and with one quick pull of her hand he had drawn her into the cool night air of the palace gardens, and he was kissing her.

When they finally drew apart, Mary felt giddy all over again. She looked up at Charles, both of them smiling in the moonlight, reaching out to trace his lips with the tip of her finger.

"But I have to go to France" she spoke so quietely, as if she didn't want to remind him of her upcoming marriage, which she probably didn't.

"I know" he said, and his face was suddenly serious, "I know. But it won't be for long, Mary, you and I both know that. He's an old man, you'll tire him out easily. Let it run it's course and then you can come back here, to me, and be mine. I promise"

_I hope we always feel this way_  
><em>I know we will<em>  
><em>And in my heart I know that you'll always stay<em>

Now they are married.

They have been married for three days, Charles and Mary, three blissful days in which they have barely lost sight of each other even for a moment. Of course, there will be repercussions. But they've got the voyage back to England first, and they can decide what to do when they get there. Henry will be angry, of course he will.

"But who could be a better match for his younger sister than his best friend?" Mary asked cheerfully whenever Charles pointed this out, so he no longer points it out. He doesn't much care, at present. He is too happy.

"You'll be with me always, won't you, Charles?" Mary asks, and there's a fear in her voice that he's never heard before as she looks across the sea. He wraps his arms around her waist and draws her near to him.

"Of course I will. I married you, didn't I?"

She grins up at him, "Yes, you did"

"I did indeed" he kisses her jaw line with slow, languorous touches. She sighs and leans into him, a smile on her lips and the sun on her cheeks.

"I'll never have enough of you, Charles Brandon, even if we're married now" she tells him with typical Princess Mary candour. Charles laughs.

"Oh, believe me, I feel every bit the same as you do" he moves away from her and takes her hand, "Come to our cabin?"

She widens her eyes in appealing faux innocence, "Well, you are my husband, I do have to do absolutely _everything_ you bid me to do"

"I was hoping you'd say that" he grins, and reaches down to sweep her off her feet and into his arms, carrying her all the way into their marriage bed and into joy.

_Oh, I just can't get enough  
>How much do I need to fill me up?<br>It feels so good, it must be love_

_I give up, I give in, I let go, let's begin_  
><em>'Cause no matter what I do<em>

_Oh, I just can't get enough_  
><em>How much do I need to fill me up?<em>  
><em>It feels so good, it must be love<em>  
><em>It's everything that I've been dreaming of<em>

_I give up, I give in, I let go, let's begin_  
><em>'Cause no matter what I do<em>  
><em>Oh, my heart is filled with you<em>

_Oh, you got me, you got me_  
><em>Oh, oh, you got me, you got me<em>


	63. I Never Told You

_AN: Lady Eleanor Boleyn. George Boleyn/Jane Parker to I Never Told You by Colbie Calliat. Set in early 1543. N.B. I'm going by my head canon, so George is the youngest of the Boleyn siblings._

George Boleyn, Earl of Ormonde, watched his beloved wife, Lady Jane, being interred into the ground and fought back the tears. He couldn't cry. Not here, not now. He'd promised her that he wouldn't. She'd made him promise. She'd said the children, their beautiful children, needed him to be the strong one; that they couldn't see him cry. And she was right. She'd always been right about things like that.

George could see them now through the haze of his blurry eyesight. They were standing to his right, seven year old Henry holding his younger sister, Jane, close as she sobbed. Henry. Henry Boleyn, Viscount Rochford. His son and heir; their son and heir. It was clear even to George that his son was nothing more than a little boy desperately trying to act the man his sister needed him to be. Henry was trying to be Jane's rock, the way he, George, had always been, and still was, his own sister Anne's. It wasn't fair on Henry to be forced into this role. George longed to comfort him; comfort them both, but how could he, when he was bitterly grieving too? When he had no comfort to give them? When it was his fault their mother was dead?

**I miss those blue eyes**

**How you kiss me at night**

**I miss the way we sleep**

**Like there's no sunrise**

**Like the taste of your smile**

**I miss the way we breathe**

"Papa?"

A small hand slithered into his. George started, then looked down at his eldest daughter. Six year old Anne, who had his nose and spirit, but Jane's slight figure and sandy-blonde tresses. He gulped, trying hard not to show her how painful looking her in the eye was. She had his sister's eyes. That's why they'd named her Anne; because of her eyes, not because his sister was Queen and the mother of two healthy Princes, John and Edmund, as well as three Princesses, Elizabeth, Grace and Philippa.

Anna had the same eyes his sister had had at her age, but where her aunt's had darkened with the years, Anna's had not. Hers were still a light blue; the same light blue as her mother's.

But he couldn't think of that. Not now.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he asked.

Anna looked up at him, offering him a candid, characteristically brave smile.

"It's all right, Papa. I'll be your Lady Ormonde now. I'll love you and help you, just the way Mama did."

He couldn't help it. The innocent declaration of her love for him undid him. squeezing the little girl's hand, he wrenched himself away and hurried out of sight, not caring a whit for the disapproving murmurs it earned him.

How could he care for society's disapproval when his world had effectively ended? He couldn't go on without her. His Jane. And it was his fault. His.

If he hadn't given into her pleading; hadn't made her pregnant, she'd still be here. She'd been too old for it. She was only thirty-two, perhaps, but Jane's birth had been hard enough on her. Her body had been exhausted. And twins were always more dangerous. Everyone knew that. He should have never let her carry them to term. Never. He should have forbidden it.

But he hadn't and now he had a new-born son, Charles and another daughter, Amy, to care for, as well as the elder three. No doubt his father, were he still alive, would have been pressing him to remarry as soon as possible. But Thomas Boleyn wasn't alive and George could do what he liked.

Right now, that meant grieving for his wife. Or at least, numbing the pain so much that he couldn't feel it.

George locked himself in his bedchamber and drank himself into oblivion.

**But I never told you**

**What I should have said**

**No, I never told you**

**I just held it in**

**And now,**

**I miss everything about you**

**Can't believe that I still want you**

**and after all the things we've been through**

**I miss everything about you**

**Without you**

When he came back to himself, George lay there musing to himself. He hadn't always loved his wife, he admitted. In fact, he'd hated her at first. Theirs had been an arranged marriage and neither of them had wanted it. He'd raped her on their wedding night, just so that he could prove to his father that he had done his duty by the Boleyns and then sought solace in the company of his drinking friends, his sister and his whores.

That had been the state of affairs for practically the whole of the first decade of their marriage. But then Anne – his sister Anne, whom he could never refuse anything – had given the King a son. She had given the King a son and in doing so, had secured herself in the hearts of both the King and the people forever, especially when Prince John had been followed a year later by Princess Phillippa and then again two years later by Prince Edmund and his sickly little sister, Princess Grace.

With her own marriage secure, Anne had turned her attention to her brother's. She had extended the hand of friendship to his wife, making her Mistress of the Robes and urged George to spend more time with her; to get to know her properly.

At first, he had done it purely for Anne's sake, but over the months, he had come to appreciate Jane for herself; appreciate her enough that bedding her was a pleasure rather than a painful duty.

And then Henry had been born. Their son had been the final seal on their love. The moment George had held him; he had known that he loved him…and his mother.

But he'd never told her. Not once. Not even when she lay dying. He'd never told her he loved her. He'd never told her and he'd never forgive himself for that.

**I see your blue eyes**

**Everytime I close mine**

**You make it hard to see**

**Where I belong to**

**When I'm not around you**

**It's like I'm alone with me**

**But I never told you**

**What I should have said**

**No, I never told you**

**I just held it in**

Closing his eyes, George saw her in his mind as he had seen her a thousand times. Sitting on the end of the bed, cradling one of their children. However, this time, rather than blocking out the memory, as he had done countless times in the last few days since her demise, he let it come. Let it wash over him until he was lost in it.

_He peered round the door of the lying-in chamber, unable to help himself. The midwife nodded. _

"_You may come in, milord."_

_Without waiting for any more reassurance, he flew across the room and dropped to one knee beside the bed, "Jane. My darling."_

"_George. I'm sorry."_

"_Why?" He took her hands in his and kissed them, "Whatever have you got to be sorry for?"_

"_It's a girl. Another. I'm sorry. I know your father wanted another boy, in case anything happens to Henry. I should have given you that. I should have…"_

_She was distressing herself. George leaned in and stopped her mouth with a firm kiss._

"_Hush, darling," he commanded, "You haven't let me down at all. You might be sorry, but I'm not. I'm not sorry at all. Henry's strong and healthy; nothing's going to happen to him. I promise. There's plenty of time for us to have another boy. And I've always wanted Anna to have a sister. A sister, so that there's two Boleyn girls, just as there were when Mary, Anne and I were young. I couldn't be happier. Honest. Now, can I hold this daughter of mine, please?"_

_Jane nodded, signing to the midwife to lay their new child in her father's arms. George took her, amazed all over again at the life and vitality that was kicking strongly in his arms. He always forgot how energetic a new-born was._

"_What shall we call her?" Jane whispered, and George glanced up at her, locking eyes with her as he answered, "Jane. We'll call her Jane."_

"_You'd name her for me?" Jane sounded disbelieving. George nodded._

"_How could we not name her for her mother, when she'll clearly be just as much of a beauty as you are one day?"_

_He pressed his lips to Jane's again and, when they drew apart, Jane looked up at him adoringly, "I do love you, George," she murmured._

_Her candid confession caught George unawares. A surprising lump of emotion caught in his throat, so he said nothing, only took her hand again, squeezing it slightly, before placing his daughter in the already waiting cradle and turning to leave the room._

**And now,**

**I miss everything about you**

**Can't believe that I still want you**

**and after all the things we've been through**

**I miss everything about you**

**Without you**

Suddenly, the door swung open. George looked up in shock. His older sister Anne, Anne the Queen of England stood there.

"A…Anne," George stuttered, too astonished to show her the courtesy that he should have done. Anne pushed past him without a word, issuing orders to the maids who bustled in behind her.

"You, throw the windows open. It reeks in here. And someone get rid of those empty bottles. And make up the bed. Lord Ormonde can't possibly sleep comfortably on that. Be quick about it!"

"What are…What are you…?"

"Taking you in hand. God knows someone has to. You've done nothing but mope in here for three days."

"Three…"

"Yes, I said three days! Good God, George, how much have you had?! No one's seen you since you ran away from Anna at the funeral. Just think what that's done to the children. Anna's racked with guilt and Henry's trying to be the man but can't. Jane's barely spoken and even the babies can sense that something's wrong. I swear they can. They haven't stopped crying unless they're feeding. Or so the nursery maids tell me. No doubt you want to be left alone to be morbid and drunkenly maudlin. Well, it stops here. You are the Earl of Ormonde, as well as a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber and Earl Marshal to His Majesty. You have a duty to England as well as to your family. We need you back, George. I need my brother and your children need their father. Now get dressed, and for God's sake make sure it's something presentable!"

Anne shoved George roughly towards his clothes press. He went there without protesting, still slightly scared of his sister's mood, but the sight of the shirts Jane had made him and the scent of her perfume as he opened it undid him anew.

"I never told her!" he sobbed brokenly, turning anguished eyes on Anne. "I never told her I loved her! Seventeen years and I never once told her that I loved her!"

"Oh George!" Faced with her brother's evident distress, Anne melted instantly. Dismissing the maids with a wave of her hand, she came up behind her baby brother and wrapped her arms around him.

She held him, murmuring soothing platitudes as he finally broke down and sobbed out the grief he had been holding back for far too long.

**But I never told you**

**What I should have said**

**No, I never told you**

**I just held it in**

**And now,**

**I miss everything about you**

**Can't believe that I still want you**

**and after all the things we've been through**

**I miss everything about you**

**Without you**


	64. You're Not Sorry

**A/N: Hi, GreenField here. Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews, would love to see some for this chapter too! Sogn is You're Not Sorry by Taylor Swift, pairing Anne/Henry.**

_All this time I was waiting  
>Hoping you would come around<br>I've been giving out chances every time  
>And all you do is let me down<em>

_And it's taken me this long_  
><em>Baby but I figured you out<em>  
><em>And you're thinking we'll be fine again<em>  
><em>But not this time around<em>

Anne stood, frozen in the doorway, staring at her husband. He was sitting with that little slut on his knee, that hussy, that _Jane Seymour_! She was giggling foolishly at something he had said, and Henry's face glowed with a ridiculous pride in himself, that he had managed to make her laugh.

"What is this?" Anne was trying to be calm, but she knew her voice sounded shrill. Jane Seymour gave a little shriek and fell off of Henry's lap. But Henry's reaction was what made her blood run cold. He didn't look embarrassed at being caught. He didn't look upset. He hadn't got up from his seat, grabbing her hands and pleading for her forgiveness as he had done before.

He just looked at her, coldly and contemptuously.

Jane Seymour rose from the floor, brushing down her skirt and blushing pinkly.

"Go" Anne ordered, and the girl scurried off with her head down. But Anne did not miss the triumphant glint in the girl's eyes. And she hated it. She turned to Henry.

"You told me you would take no other mistresses! You promised me!" oh, she knew how awful she sounded, railing at him like she was, but she was so angry!

"Stay calm" Henry replied, voice cool, "You must not upset the child"

"Then you ought not to upset me!" Anne shrieked, "You could have come to my bed!"

"You are with child. I cannot lie with you. A man must look elsewhere at such a difficult time"

"No! I won't stand for it, Henry, I won't!"

"You will ignore it, as your betters have done before you" Henry rose from his seat, and Anne realised that he thought it was over, that there was no more to discuss, that they could both go back to their already strained marriage without what she had just seen ever having an effect on them. Well, he was wrong. Not this time.

_You don't have to call anymore_  
><em>I won't pick up the phone<em>  
><em>This is the last straw<em>  
><em>Don't wanna hurt anymore<em>

_And you can tell me that you're sorry_  
><em>But I don't believe you baby<em>  
><em>Like I did before<em>  
><em>You're not sorry, no, no, no, no<em>

"You could at least look sorry!" Anne screamed, unable to stop herself, "You could at least pretend to want my forgiveness!"

"I don't need your forgiveness. You are my wife. You are expected to obey me, and to ignore my transgressions. It is your duty as my wife and Queen"

"What about your duty as my husband?! You promised to be true to me, to be faithful to me, and now I find you have broken your promise once again! There was first that girl Matilda, when I carried Elizabeth, and I forgave you. When I lost our child, you were abed with Madge Shelton, my own _cousin_, and still I forgave you! Now I find you cavorting with a _Seymour_, the enemy of my family, and you expect me to forgive you again? No, Henry, I will not!"

_Looking so innocent_  
><em>I might believe you if I didn't know<em>  
><em>Could've loved you all my life<em>  
><em>If you hadn't left me waiting in the cold<em>

_And you got your share of secrets_  
><em>And I'm tired of being last to know<em>  
><em>And now you're asking me to listen<em>  
><em>Cause it's worked each time before<em>

"Lady Jane is not like the other women. She is a good woman, pure and chaste"

Anne snorted, "Pure and chase at twenty-five after serving over ten years at court? If you believe that, husband, then you're more of a fool than I thought"

Henry's gaze sharpened, his eyes growing dark with anger, "Don't presume to call me a fool, Anne. I am the King"

"And I am your Queen! But still you make a fool out of me by parading around with that little whore on your arm. How can you not see that she lies to you?"

"She has never been married. She is pure"

"We were not married that night in Calais! But I gave myself to you because I love you. Don't think she won't do exactly the same thing if you promise her enough power and position and wealth, because those things combined are almost as powerful as love. At least, they are in the heart of a Seymour"

"I demand that you stop this. Insulting Lady Jane and her family is very wrong of you. The Seymours have always been good friends of the throne"

"As have the Howards! Henry, you're being a fool. They want me off the throne, that's why they've thrown Jane in your path. She doesn't want you. She's doing as she's been told"

"That is exactly the sort of scheming plot that I knew you would come up with. It's in your blood to scheme. But Jane is a sweet, innocent girl. She would not do that to me"

"I could have loved your forever if you hadn't done this to me" Anne whispered, slumping, feeling an ache in her heart. Henry looked at her.

"Then you no longer love me?"

"I didn't say that" Anne said quickly, "I'm just tired of your secrets. Tired of being betrayed. You should be honest with me. Even that would be better than finding out about your mistresses from the gossip of my ladies"

"All Kings have secrets, and I think you'll find that their wives are not often privy to them"

_But you don't have to call anymore_  
><em>I won't pick up the phone<em>  
><em>This is the last straw<em>  
><em>Don't wanna hurt anymore<em>

_And you can tell me that you're sorry_  
><em>But I don't believe you baby<em>  
><em>Like I did before<em>  
><em>You're not sorry, no, no, oh<em>  
><em>You're not sorry, no, no, oh<em>

"If you shan't tell me your secrets, I don't want you in my bed" Anne retorted, fighting the anger that was rising once again. Henry glanced at her face, then at her belly, showing no emotion.

"I don't want to be in your bed" he said harshly. Anne's face fell slightly, as though he had struck her.

"You're really not sorry anymore, are you?"

"Not anymore" Henry confirmed, glaring at her, "Good day, wife. I suggest you lay down and get some rest. Recover the strength you have lost in starting this fight"

_You had me falling for you honey_  
><em>And it never would've gone away, no<em>  
><em>You used to shine so bright<em>  
><em>But I watched all of it fade<em>

_So you don't have to call anymore_  
><em>I won't pick up the phone<em>  
><em>This is the last straw<em>  
><em>There's nothing left to beg for<em>

Anne sank into his vacated chair, hands clasped around her belly. She was breathing heavily, agony piercing her to her very core. He didn't love her anymore. He wasn't sorry.

She'd lost him.

Anne gasped, hand clapped over her mouth, tears spilling onto her cheeks. If she didn't have a son, if this child wasn't a boy, she was done. Finished.

There was nothing left for her, or him, to beg for.

_And you can tell me that you're sorry_  
><em>But I don't believe you baby<em>  
><em>Like I did before<em>  
><em>You're not sorry, no, no, oh<em>  
><em>You're not sorry, no, no, oh<em>  
><em>No, oh, no, oh, no oh<em>  
><em>Whoa, no, no<em>


	65. We Owned the Night

**A/N: Hi! GreenField here. My lovely fanfiction partner told me that she was writing a chapter for this at the moment, so I thought I'd better join her! Charles Brandon/Anne Boleyn to We Owned the Night by Lady Antebellum. Charles' POV. Extremely AU!**

_Tell me have you ever wanted  
>Someone so much it hurts?<br>Your lips keep trying to speak  
>But you just can't find the words<br>I had this dream once;  
>I held it in my hands<em>

_She was the purest beauty  
>But not the common kind<br>She had a way about her  
>That made you feel the light<br>And for a moment  
>She made the world stand still<em>

I had no idea who she was, the day we first met. She was new to court, a slender and beautiful young woman with the most mesmerising eyes I had ever seen; dark and bold, with long dark lashes. All the other women had long since melted into one; the dull mixture of blondes and brunettes, with their light eyes and pale faces and court laughs. But Anne was different, I knew that at first sight. Anne was different, and she would be mine.

She was dancing with Henry Percy. I wanted to cut in, but he _was_ the Duke of Northumberland, after all, and he was making her smile. So I waited. And that night I dreamt about her. I saw her face, her smile, her long dark hair, those big dark eyes, the flare of her red dress as it whipped around her. I wanted her so badly that I wasn't sure I'd be able to speak to her, when the time came.

I was wrong.

"My Lady, would you care to dance?"

She turned to look at me, that next night, as though considering me. Her eyes scanned my face, as though trying to decide whether or not it was a serious offer.

"If you like, my Lord Suffolk" she said, almost shrugging. So she knew who I was, then, this beautiful goddess with her stunning eyes.

"I would like it very much" I replied truthfully, holding out my hand. She took it, a little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"What is your name?" I asked after a few long moments during which I could hardly breathe, let alone speak. She twirled beneath my guiding hand, throwing me a gleaming smile as she did so.

"Anne Boleyn, my Lord"

"Thomas Boleyn's daughter?" I was surprised – how could this girl be the daughter of a man so...well, so dull?!

She laughed, a light, tinkling laugh, "The very same. And you are the Duke of Suffolk"

"Charles" I corrected quickly, "You must call me Charles"

"Charles" she rolled the name around her mouth as though tasting it, "As you wish, Charles"

"How did you know who I was?"

"Everyone knows who _you_ are" she responded, "Especially me"

"Why you in particular?"

"Because I looked for you, of course. What woman would not?"

For a moment, I forgot that we were in the Great Hall of Greenwich Palace, surrounded by people, couples spinning and laughing and leaping around us. In that one moment, it was just me and her, Charles and Anne, and the only thing keeping me centred on Earth was the power of her eyes.

I leaned towards her, almost brushing her lips with my own, "Would you continue looking for me, Mistress Anne?"

"You must call me Anne" she scolded, smiling, "And of course I would. Like I said, what woman would not?" she paused, twirling again in her sunshine yellow gown, "Would you continue looking for me, Charles Brandon?"

"You and only you" I swore, "I would need look nowhere else"

_Yeah, we owned the night_

_You had me dim the lights;_  
><em>You danced just like a child<em>  
><em>The wine spilled on your dress<em>  
><em>And all you did was smile<em>  
><em>Yeah, it was perfect<em>  
><em>I hold it in my mind<em>

_Yeah, we owned the night_

I courted her in secret for two months. It had to be a secret; I was married to Mary, my childhood sweetheart who now paled in comparison with Anne's darkly entrancing beauty, and her sister was the current mistress of the King. Both of us were always in the spotlight, but it was funny how the spotlight moved. Sometimes we could duck under it, Anne and me, and we could find a few minutes every day to share a dance or a meal or for me to present her with a posy of red roses, her favourite flower. She would reward me with her lovely smile and the sparkle in her dark eyes, nothing more, and I desired nothing more. At least, not at first.

After these two months of closeted courtship, I invited Anne to my rooms. I was not sure that she would come; I knew she still felt some loyalty to Mary, who had once been her Mistress in Calais – how had I not noticed her then?! – and she had never shown any indication of willing to go further than a chaste kiss.

We dined together, Anne and me. I had musicians bought in and once we had eaten our fill, we danced. We danced for hours, our bodies close, her eyes glittering with mirth and joy and something like love. When the musicians had left and we were alone again, I was so nervous I knocked over a goblet of wine onto the pale ivory of her dress.

"Don't worry" she said gently, smiling, "It was an accident. It's just a dress"

"I'll buy you a new one" I promised, then, exuberantly, "I'll buy you a hundred new dresses if you'll only be mine!"

"I already am yours, Charles" another smile, "You're a fool if you don't see that"

_When summer rolls around  
>And the sun starts sinking down<br>I'll still remember you  
>Oh, I remember you<br>And I wonder where you are_

I try not to think about those times now. Anne and I are no more. Each time I think that thought, something stabs me in the heart. I loved her, I truly loved her, and she left me. She chose my best friend, the King of England. She doesn't love him, but I don't blame her for choosing him. He can give her everything I cannot; marriage, a crown, power, children. I could give her none of those things because they were never legally mine. She knew that. She understood that. But she still chose him.

I don't know where she is now. She's had him send me from court – she says it's because I made up rumours about her relationship with Thomas Wyatt, but that's just an excuse. I know she feels all wrong flirting with him when I am around; I see the pain in her eyes whenever we look at each other, the pain she feels simply because she had to tear our love apart.  
><em><br>Are you looking at those same stars again?  
>Do you remember when?<em>

_We woke under a blanket_  
><em>All tangled up in skin<em>  
><em>Not knowing in that moment<em>  
><em>We'd never speak again<em>  
><em>But it was perfect;<em>  
><em>I never will forget<em>  
><em>When we owned the night<em>

But enough of that now. I want to remember, because memories hurt so much less than the present day.

So I remember the first night we spent together, the same night I spilt the wine on her gown. I remember the feel of her warm body, the smell of her hair and her skin, the way she whispered my name with such love, such unadulterated joy, that I knew for sure she was mine. I remember –

"My Lord Suffolk, a visitor for you"

I look up, nod to the maid to show I have understood, and rise from my seat. The maid, Bathsheba, glowers at me as she goes. She was Mary's maid really, and nowadays she hates me for not missing my wife more. Even though I do miss her, in my way.

"Charles?"

I haven't heard that voice say that name in a long time. Anne is standing in the doorway, a timid smile on her lips – Anne, who was always mine and never timid – wearing a very familiar gown of sapphire blue, the first gown I ever bought her, though this time it's draped it jewels that I certainly did not buy her. The sight of those diamonds, huge and gleaming, makes me flinch. She notices, draws her cloak tighter around herself.

"I'm so sorry" she whispers, "I just wanted to tell you that I'm so, so sorry for everything that went wrong between us"

I move to her, crush her and the satin of her gown into my arms, and press my lips to hers before she can say another word. I expect her to struggle, to tell me that we cannot be like this anymore, but she does not. When I draw away, she is smiling.

"Would you continue to look for me, Charles Brandon?" she asks, her eyes wet and her voice full of memory. My smile grows.

"Yes" I promise, "You and only you. I would need look nowhere else"  
><em><br>Yeah, we owned the night_


	66. Safe and Sound

A/N: Hi! An amazing chapter to one of my favourite songs from the lovely Lady Eleanor Boleyn. Elizabeth/Eleanor Boleyn to Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift. Reviews would be great!

**I remember tears streaming down your face**

**When I said, I'll never let you go**

**When all those shadows almost killed your light**

**I remember you said, Don't leave me here alone**

**But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight**

"I wish you could be here, Anne. I wish you could see your daughter crowned Queen."

The words slipped from my lips before I could stop them. I was sitting in my luxurious rooms in the Tower, gazing out of the window at the very same green upon which my sister had had her head struck from her shoulders.

I could hardly keep the memories from overwhelming me; so strongly were they pressing in upon me.

_Anne, wonderfully, exotically beautiful and beloved of the King of England._

_Anne, starting the boat race and yelling for the Howards. _

_Anne, whirling me around in delight when we'd found out King Henry was planning to take her to France as his future bride._

_Anne, marrying King Henry in the dead of night, with only myself, George, Henry Norris and Thomas Heanage for witnesses._

_Anne, sitting in these rooms with my daughter Margaret on her lap before she went out to be crowned Queen of England._

_Anne, slumping in my arms after she had failed to provide the King with the son she had promised him._

_Slumping in my arms as I forced her to take a sleeping potion to calm her after her arrest. _

_Locking eyes with me as I knelt before her even as she was on the scaffold._

_Collapsing to the ground in a great spurt of scarlet as her slender swan-like neck was cleaved in two._

Tears began to mist my eyes over and I dragged my eyes away from the window. I couldn't afford to think like this. Not tonight. Tonight, of all nights, I needed to keep a cool head. After all, it wasn't every night your niece, the King's former Princess; his younger bastardised daughter, was on the verge of becoming an anointed Queen Regnant.

No. I couldn't afford to let the memories break me tonight. Elizabeth would need me. Elizabeth, who in an almost magical reversal of her mother's story, had risen from being a distrusted prisoner of her own sister to England's beloved Queen Gloriana. The memories would be just as strong, if not stronger, for her and she was younger; less sure of herself. She didn't have a Henry at her side to keep her strong. She would most definitely need me tonight.

Sure enough, I had barely taken a deep breath and steadied myself before my daughter Margaret, one of Elizabeth's favourite ladies, looked in.

"She's asking for you, Mama."

**Just close your eyes**

**The sun is going down**

**You'll be alright**

**No one can hurt you now**

**Come morning light**

**You and I'll be safe and sound**

Elizabeth turned anguished eyes on me the moment I stepped into her rooms. Without her needing to say anything, I raised a hand and dismissed her other ladies. Mistress Ashley hesitated, her inability to help her charge clearly distressing her, but when Margaret curtsied and withdrew as well, she followed suit. If even my daughter was leaving, then we obviously really needed to be alone.

As soon as the door swung shut behind her, I pulled Elizabeth into my arms, stroking her rich copper curls as I had done a thousand times before.

"Oh, Lisabelle. Sweet, sweet Lisabelle."

"Aunt Eleanor!" She cried, burying her face in my shoulder.

"I know, I know," I murmured, "I know, Lisabelle. But it's all right. It's all right. I'm here. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. I'm not. And anyway, you're Queen, Lisabelle. You're Queen. To hurt you is treason, especially now, on the night before your coronation. No one's going to try it. I promise you. I promise."

"No one's called me Lisabelle since I left your house," Elizabeth sniffed. "I've missed it."

I smiled, releasing her gently as she pulled away from my hold to pace to the window. I waited silently, knowing she had more to say, but not wanting to push her.

"My mother went from being Queen of England to a prisoner here. I go from a Prisoner to England's first Protestant Queen Regnant."

There was nothing I could do but nod. As if she sensed it, Elizabeth whirled round and came to me in two strides, gripping the tops of my arms in a vice-like grip.

"Would they be proud of me, Aunt Eleanor? Papa, who gave everything – everything –to have a son, would he be proud of me? Would he see me as his own, as his best girl Bessie, as the Tudor lioness I've always tried to be? Or would he still think I've failed him because I'm not a boy? Because I'm a Queen and not a King? And Mama? I cost her Papa's love, I cost her the crown, I cost her her life! How could she look down from Heaven and be proud of me, given what I cost her? And you! You brought me up and loved me as your own, yet I cost you everything. You were the King's beloved sister-in-law, the Queen's favourite sister, the second most powerful woman in England. I cost you that. I cost you it all. Yet you still stand there and tell me you're proud of me. How can you? How can you? If I had been a boy, how different things would have been! Oh that I had been a boy! Oh that I had been a boy!"

**Don't you dare look out your window darling**

**Everything's on fire**

**The war outside our door keeps raging on**

**Hold onto this lullaby**

**Even when the music's gone**

**Just close your eyes**

**The sun is going down**

**You'll be alright**

**No one can hurt you now**

**Come morning light**

**You and I'll be safe and sound**

In the face of Elizabeth's desperation, there was only one thing that I could think to do. I wrenched myself away from her and flung open the door.

"Margaret. The book. Now!"

My daughter looked up. Our eyes met. She nodded and was gone within the instant.

A few minutes later, she raced back into the room and thrust it into my hands.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

I turned back to my niece and shut the door again.

"Elizabeth. Elizabeth Eleanor Tudor. You cannot think like this! Do you hear me? You cannot think like this! Of course we're proud of you. I love you like a daughter. There's nothing you could do that would stop me being proud of you tonight. And your father. He loved you too. He may not have shown it much, but he did. I know he did. Of course he'd be proud of you. And as for your mother, your mother loved you! She loved you more than her own life and she would have done anything to see you mount your rightful throne. Anything."

"How do you know? She's been dead over twenty years. How can you know what she'd have done any more?

"She was my sister, remember? I was with her through it all. I was with her from the very first day she came home from France to the very last of her life. I know what she was like. I know what she'd have done for you and I can tell you she would have done anything. Anything at all."

Stepping forward, I placed the book into Elizabeth's hands. She glanced down at it, then back up at me, questions only too clear in her dark brown eyes. Her dark brown eyes that were the image of my sister's.

"I wrote it for you, Elizabeth. I wrote it for you years ago, when we were still at Alnwick. I wrote it for you just after your mother had died, "I explained.

"What is it?"

"It's your mother's story. The story of how she came back to England. How she enraptured your father, the King and married. And most of all, it's the story of how much she loved him. How much she loved you and how much she was willing to go through for the sake of that love. I've kept it all these years, meaning to give it to you when the time was right. Well, now the time is right. You're a young woman now. You're a young woman and you're about to become an anointed Queen in your own right. It's time you knew who you really were, Elizabeth. It's time you realised that you aren't just a Tudor. You aren't just a Tudor Rose. You're a Boleyn too. You're a Boleyn Falcon just as much as you are a Tudor Rose. I want you to know that. I want you to know that and to know that as long as you stay true to yourself, you're staying true to the Boleyns as well. By staying true to yourself, you're staying true to your mother's memory and that's what would make her proud of you. To know you're loyal to her; to our family; would make her proud."

Reaching up, I undid the necklace I was wearing. It was a locket, a locket containing a tiny braid of hair. A braid Anne had had made in the first weeks after Elizabeth's birth. It wove my hair with Anne's, with Mary's, George's, Margaret's and Elizabeth's. It wove our family, past, present and future together. I slipped it around Elizabeth's neck and kissed her tenderly on the forehead, the way Anne had always done with me.

"This was hers, Lisabelle. She'd want you to have it. I've kept it safe for you, but she'd want you to have it now. Will you wear it and treasure her memory? Always? For my sake?"

"Always", Elizabeth promised, returning my kisses warmly.

**Just close your eyes**

**You'll be alright**

**Come morning light,**

**You and I'll be safe and sound...**

I curtsied deeply, sweeping to the floor now for my niece as I had always done for my sister when we found ourselves together in public. I rose and was about to leave the room, when Elizabeth suddenly stopped me.

"Stay with me. See me into bed. Please?"

"Of course," I nodded.

Slowly, I helped her out of her long heavy gown of scarlet velvet and laced her into her night robe of cream velvet-lined linen, swept a silver-backed brush through her hair until it blazed like fire and then went to turn down the covers of her bed. She climbed in between the sheets and I drew them up around her as though she were still a little girl.

"Goodnight, Aunt Eleanor."

"Goodnight, Your Majesty."

Worn out with the emotion of the day, Elizabeth was asleep within minutes. As soon as I heard her breathing even out, I dropped the sewing I'd been doing by the fireside and went over to the bed. Elizabeth was lying peacefully, her creamy skin smooth and unlined by cares. Her hand had crept up to her throat so that her fingers had curled around the locket.

Smiling, I stooped to kiss her as she slept, "Sweet dreams, Lisabelle. God be with you, tomorrow and for always."

Then I slipped from the room to prepare myself for bed and for my niece's impending coronation.

**Oooooo,**

**OoooOooo,**

**Oooooo,**

**OoooOooo,**

**Oooooo,**

**OoooOooo,**

**Oooooo,**

**OoooOooo,**

**Oooooo,**

**OoooOooo,**

**Oooooo,**

**OoooOooo...**


	67. Someone Like You

_AN: Lady Eleanor Boleyn. AU Unrequited Bessie Blount/Henry with mentions of Henry/Mary Boleyn from Bessie's eyes. Set in 1522. Song is Adele's "Someone Like You."_

**I heard that you're settled down**

**That you found a girl and you're married now**

**I heard that your dreams came true**

**Guess she gave you things I didn't give to you**

Bessie Blount, once King Henry's sweetheart, his Queen in all but name, but now just a mere Baroness, entered the room on her husbands arm. Despite themselves, the other courtiers in the room all turned to look as the herald announced, "Baron and Baroness Tailboys!"

Bessie stumbled, caught at Gilbert's arm.

"Head up. I've got you. Head up. Everyone wants to know how you'll react to his new Queen. You can't give them the satisfaction of seeing you weak. You can't."

Bessie nodded; schooled her face to remain unreadable. But she couldn't help the pain that flashed in her eyes as the herald announced, "Their Majesties King Henry, Queen Mary and Highness the Prince of Wales!"

Her former lover, her sovereign Lord walked past her, dandling his heir in his arms. The child was strong and lusty. He was crowing happily; roaring merrily like the lion he was named after. Henry's eyes, once so blue and sorrowful, were laughing as they watched the child before flicking up to scan the room. They were shining with pride. With love.

Bessie wanted to smile at the obvious love in his eyes, but one thing stopped her. It wasn't directed at her. The child in His Majesty's arms wasn't Bessie's Henry. Though it could have been, it wasn't. Instead, Mary Boleyn walked at Henry Tudor's side and it was her son, Lionel Tudor, in his strong, protective hold.

**Old friend, why are you so shy?**  
><strong>Ain't like you to hold back or hide from the light<strong>

Bessie curtsied silently as the Royal Family passed her, but as she rose, she found her eyes catching the King's. Unable to stop herself, she let her thoughts, "_That could be me. It could be my Harry in your arms, Henry," _flood on to her face.

**I hate to turn up out of the blue, uninvited  
>But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it<br>I had hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded  
>That for me, it isn't over<strong>

He hesitated, froze there with the child in his arms. Scarcely daring to breathe, Bessie took a single step forward.

It seemed to her that time was standing still, that everyone was watching her with bated breath as they used to, waiting for her to do something. And so she stepped forward, stretching out a hand to the King.

But she'd done the wrong thing. As soon as she moved, the King shook himself. He glanced from Bessie to his son and back again. He tightened one arm around the child and then slipped his free hand around the Queen's waist. He drew her close and whispered something into her ear; something that made her laugh. He squeezed her gently and led her up to the thrones on the dais. He could not have turned his back on Bessie any more clearly.

Bessie stood there, cheeks flushing scarlet. How could she have been such a fool? How could she have let him bewitch her again? She knew his heart lay with Mary Boleyn now. She knew. Yet she'd still let him win her; let herself betray Gilbert with a single look.

Gilbert. Gilbert, who even now was coming up behind her. Gilbert, who was wrapping an arm around her, was trying his hardest to comfort her. Squeezing her eyes shut against the tears, she let him hold her; soothe her with his touch. He was so good to her. So very very good. Why couldn't she love him the way she loved the King? Why?

**Never mind, I'll find someone like you**

**I wish nothing but the best for you, too**

**Don't forget me, I begged, I remember you said**

**Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead**

**Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead**

"Lady Tailboys? Lady Tailboys?"

Oh God. The Queen was calling her. Pasting a shaky smile on her face, Bessie approached the dais on wobbly legs.

"Your Majesty?"

"Let's not beat about the bush. I know this must be difficult for you; seeing me at the King's side like this."

The Queen's voice was little more than a whisper. However, Bessie didn't trust hers at all. Nor did she know what to say. Thus, staying silent seemed to be the best course.

After a few moments, the Queen went on, "He does care for you, you know. His Majesty. More than anything, he cares for your son. His son. He knows how hard it is on a child to lose their mother at far too young an age. He would not make your Henry go through that pain. Not for the world. So he has asked me to offer your husband the position of steward in the Duke of Richmond's household and sees fit to ask you to accompany your husband. Do you accept, Lady Tailboys?

Bessie hesitated, struggling to contain the resentment that was flaring in her heart. None of this was truly Mary Boleyn's fault, she reminded herself. Mary had just been a pawn in her father's dynastic games. A pawn who'd fallen hopelessly head over heels in love with the King. Just as Bessie herself had been. It wasn't Mary's fault. Nor was it Mary's fault that she'd been lucky enough to have the King offer her marriage and then stand by her. Given how capricious the King could be, that was nothing more than sheer good fortune. Bessie couldn't begrudge her good fortune.

But given how capricious the King was, it could have so easily been Bessie in her place. Bessie could have been Elizabeth, Queen of England. Her little Harry could have been Prince of Wales. She could have been supervising her son's household as Queen of England, not merely as his steward's wife. And after everything; everything she'd done for Henry Tudor of England, that was what stung most of all.

**You know how the time flies**

**Only yesterday was the time of our lives**

**We were born and raised in a summer haze**

**Bound by the surprise of our glory days**

After all, hadn't she been the one to pull him out of his gloom? Hadn't she been the one who'd persuaded him to truly throw off the shackles of mourning for Queen Katherine? Hadn't she been the one who'd persuaded him that life was worth living again?

Of course she had.

"_Oh come on, Henry! Come in with me!" she begged him, flashing him his favourite half-smile as she waded into the shallows of the lake, lifting her skirts high to try to keep them somewhat dry._

"_Katherine wouldn't like it. She'd say it was beneath me as a King and a widower."_

_Stifling a sigh, Bessie splashed out of the water and went around behind him. He needed careful handling when he got melancholy like this._

"_Katherine loved you, Henry. And you loved her. I'm not denying that. But that doesn't mean you have to give up all fun forever. Part of loving someone is wanting them to be happy. Katherine would want you to be happy. So come on. Don't just be a King, be a man too. Be a man and play with your sweetheart. Please?"_

"_Are you my sweetheart, Bessie?" His voice sounded worryingly insecure. Bessie chuckled lowly and ruffled his hair._

"_You know I am, Henry. You know I am. Now catch me."_

_Risking everything, she pulled away from him and raced back into the shallows. To her delight, he chased after her. Spinning around, she scooped up a handful of water and flicked it in his direction._

_There was a moment of stunned silence and then she was rewarded with the sound of something she hadn't heard before. The great bellow of his laughter._

**I hate to turn up out of the blue, uninvited**

**But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it**

**I had hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded**

**That for me, it isn't over yet**

**Never mind, I'll find someone like you**

**I wish nothing but the best for you, too**

**Don't forget me, I begged, I remember you said**

**Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead, yeah**

Yes, Bessie told herself, she had most definitely brought the King back to life in a way that not even his sister and brother-in-law, the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, had been able to do. In so doing, she had given England back her King.

And how had she been repaid?

By having every ambitious family in England flaunt their daughters, their sisters, under his nose. By having one of them, Mary Boleyn, pretty Mary Boleyn, push her aside and mount the vacant throne in her place.

The trouble was, Bessie mused, Mary was so sweet that one couldn't even hate her for it. Especially not when one saw how happy she'd made the King. But it wasn't just the King on her mind. She meant well for everyone. She'd brought Princess Mary back into the fold of the Royal Family. And getting the stewardship of Harry's household to be bestowed upon Gilbert so that Bessie could be close to her son. There was no doubt that that was her influence at work. But having to take the privilege of raising her son as a gift from her one-time rival still rankled. Couldn't the King at least have had the grace to tell her of the present himself? Surely, after everything she'd done –both for him and the country – he owed her that much? Surely?

"Lady Tailboys?"

To her horror, Bessie suddenly realised that the Queen was still waiting for her answer. Flushing an even deeper shade of beetroot than before, she stuttered out, "I – I – Thank – Thank You, Your Majesty. I am most – most grateful."

Thankfully, at that moment, the herald cried "Her Highness the Princess Mary!"

**Nothing compares, no worries or cares**

**Regrets and mistakes, they're memories made**

**Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?**

She knew she shouldn't; knew it would be painful, but she still couldn't stop herself. She watched the six year old Princess Mary trot happily towards her parents. The little girl dropped into a curtsy as she reached the thrones, but, with her brother now safely ensconced on his mother's lap, she was soon swept up into her father's arms.

"Mary, my pearl."

"Papa!" Princess Mary wrapped her arms briefly around her father's neck, but was soon stretching for the woman she called her mother.

"Mama!"

Bessie couldn't take any more. With a strangled cry, she turned and forced her way out of the room. The tears started falling and nothing she did could hold them back.

"I should have brought Mary back to Court. I should have insisted he visited her. If I'd brought them back together, he couldn't have abandoned me! He couldn't have! I should have realised that he wasn't just joking when he first started talking of marriage. If I had, maybe I'd be Queen now! Maybe Harry would be his Prince! Maybe…If…"

"You couldn't have known. He was so mixed-up in himself. No one knew what he was going to do. You can't blame yourself."

Gilbert had come after her. He'd pulled her into his arms and was letting her sob into his shoulder. He was soothing her the way she had once soothed the King.

"Yes I can! Yes I can! I didn't fight for him! I was caught up in Harry; I didn't think of Mary, either of them. If I had, if I'd fought, maybe I'd have had a chance!"

"Aye, maybe. But then we'd never have met and that would be a real shame, because I love you, Elizabeth Blount. You're beautiful and kind and everything a man could want. I love you.

"You're so sweet, Gilbert," Bessie sniffed. She leaned back and caressed h/is cheek. She couldn't quite bring herself to return the sentiment, but at least touching his cheek, intimate gesture though it was, didn't feel unnatural. At least she could lean in and return his tender kiss without having to close her eyes and pretend he was the King.

It wasn't perfect. It was far from perfect.

But it was a start.

**Never mind, I'll find someone like you**

**I wish nothing but the best for you**

**Don't forget me, I begged, I remember you said**

**Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead**

**Never mind, I'll find someone like you**

**I wish nothing but the best for you, too**

**Don't forget me, I begged, I remember you said**

**Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead**

**Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead**


	68. Red

**A/N: GreenField here. I'm sure you're all sick of George/Elizabeth, but I love this song and I couldn't quite resist. Song is Red by Taylor Swift.**

_Loving him is like driving a new Maserati down a dead end street  
>Faster than the wind, passionate as sin, ending so suddenly<br>Loving him is like trying to change your mind once you're already flying  
>through the free fall<br>Like the colors in autumn so bright just before they lose it all_

"What is it like, Mama?"

Elizabeth looked up from her lap, where a pair of torn breeches lay. She was mending them for her young son who, in his usual devil-may-care way, had gone skidding into a pile of brambles the previous day and shredded the breeches to pieces. Alice, a lovely young woman of seventeen years old and her eldest child, was supposed to be helping, but she had been ditzy and distracted all day, frequenting longing glances out the window. Margaret had been scheduled to help too, but she was off somewhere with some boy from the village. Elizabeth dared not ask too many questions of her frivolous, stunning second child.

"What is what like, darling?"

Alice sat with her face cupped between her hands, as though to cover up a blush. Her eyes were dreamy, wistful.

"Being in love"

Elizabeth laid down the needle and thread, looking over at her daughter, "That depends on who you fall in love with"

Alice laid down her needle and thread, mimicking her mother's actions exactly, even pausing to smooth out her skirt as she did so, "What was being in love like for you?"

Elizabeth smiled; dreaminess had now entered her own gaze, the memories flashing through her mind, tinged with a desperate longing for the past that she could never have, "Wonderful"

"Tell me about it"

Elizabeth looked over at Alice with unfocused eyes. She could not see the present. She could only see the past.

She saw George – his laugh, his smile, his dancing eyes, the way a curl of dark hair flopped stubbornly over his forehead no matter how often he pushed it away. She felt him twirling her in a dance, tasted his kisses, felt the swooping sensation in her belly that had arrived on the occasions when he picked her up and flung her onto their bed. She saw the two of them in her mind's eye, twirling through the Great Hall, a dozen Great Halls, in a blur of different colours – emerald green, royal blue, butter yellow, rose pink...blood red.

"How can I?" she murmured, mostly to herself and only partly in answer to her daughter's demand, "How can I ever hope to put it into words?"

_Losing him was blue, like I'd never known_  
><em>Missing him was dark gray, all alone<em>  
><em>Forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you've never met<em>  
><em>But loving him was red<em>  
><em>Loving him was red<em>

"Try" Alice pleaded.

Elizabeth tried to hold onto the colours, tried to hold onto him, but already her mind was descending into the darkness of losing him, into the abyss left by his absence, into the dull grey world that he had left for her. She remembered sitting in the dark, not wanting any colour if she couldn't have George, trying to forget him. Trying to forget everything about him. But how can you forget everything you've ever known? How can you forget the other half of you?

_Touching him was like realizing all you ever wanted was right there in  
>front of you<br>Memorizing him was as easy as knowing all the words to your old  
>favorite song<br>Fighting with him was like trying to solve a crossword and realizing  
>there's no right answer<em>

She thought of the feel of his hands on her skin, his lips on hers, his fingers brushing through her hair, the way her blood fizzed and bubbled in her veins whenever he put his hands on her waist to dance.

"Sensual" she said, without thinking about the fact that her daughter was right there with her, "Passionate"

Alice kept quiet, waiting for more, letting her mother think. Because of course, Elizabeth could remember him so well. Better than anyone else who had known him. Better than his own sister, even. Because she knew every inch of him, inside and out, always had done, always would do. By the time he was gone she had even known how to win a fight with him, knowledge she had never hoped to gain. They fought in riddles, fire in their voices, ice in their eyes. Their fights burned. Their nights burned. Everything was fire, with them.

"Fiery. Angry. But...knowingly"

_Regretting him was like_  
><em>Wishing you never found out that love could be that long<em>  
><em>Losing him was blue, like I'd never known<em>  
><em>Missing him was dark gray, all alone<em>  
><em>Forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you never met<em>  
><em>But loving him was red, oh red, burning red<em>

She remembered trying to regret him, in the dark days after his death. Regret and forget, that was her aim. She thought of all the bad times they had been through, to make her regret the relationship, but she could not regret loving him. The good times so far outweighed the bad. For every row there had been a night of lovemaking. For every week they stopped speaking had been a day holding their children in her arms. For every bit of bitter envy and searing rage there was pure happiness and unadulterated love.

"Perfectly balanced"

_Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes_  
><em>Tell myself it's time now gotta let go<em>  
><em>But moving on from him is impossible when I still see it all in my head<em>  
><em>in burning red<em>  
><em>Burning, it was red<em>

"You don't forget him, do you, Mama?"

Elizabeth pulled out of her reverie with effort, "No. Surely you don't?"

"Of course not"

"Then why did you need to ask what love feels like?"

"Because the love I have for my father is different for the love I would have for my husband" Alice tilted her head to one side, "What was loving him like, Mama, in one word?"

Elizabeth looked out of the window into the garden. She could see Margaret walking hand in hand with a boy from the village. From a distance, they looked like her and George had when they were young, walking in the fields of Hever. She could see her young son George playing with Eric and Elena, the three of them looking a little like George, Thomas and Mary. She closed her eyes and pictured her lover's face one more time. A little smile curved her lips.

"Red" she told her daughter, opening her eyes and smiling, "Loving him was red"

_Losing him was blue, like I'd never known_  
><em>Missing him was dark gray, all alone<em>  
><em>Forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you've never met<em>  
><em>Cause loving him was red, yeah yeah red, burning red<em>

_And that's why he's spinning around in my head_  
><em>Comes back to me in burning red<em>

_Loving him is like driving a new Maserati down a dead end street_


	69. Primadonna

_AN: Lady Eleanor Boleyn. Edward Brandon/Princess Katherine Tudor-Brandon father/daughter. Takes place in 156 3 with flashbacks to earlier. Set to Primadonna by Marina and the Diamonds._

"Katherine!" Edward Brandon, Great Lord of England and Wales, exclaimed, shaking his head at his eldest daughter, "What on Earth do you think you're wearing?"

"Mama's dark green velvet," Katherine replied, tossing her dark hair back carelessly.

"Yes, I can see that. Have you asked her whether you can wear it?"

Without a word, Katherine slid her eyes away from her father. Edward sighed. "You haven't, have you?"

"Well…not exactly. But she never wears it!"

"That's not the point! You've had this made over without her permission! For Goodness sake, Katherine. You're fifteen years old. You're old enough to know better."

"But, Papa, I have to make a good impression on the Spanish Ambassadors and green always suits me. Don't you want me to look beautiful for them? Don't you want me to be dressed as befits your Reina?"

Despite himself, Edward laughed, "You'll never change, will you?"

Katherine wound her arms around his neck, "You're not going to tell Mama, are you, Papa?"

"She'll find out," Edward warned.

"Yes, but you're not going to tell her, are you?"

"Get along with you!" Edward pushed Katherine off him and watched her go, laughing indulgently. He could never help indulging her. Never.

**Primadonna girl, yeah  
>All I ever wanted was the world<br>I can't help that I need it all  
>The primadonna life, the rise and fall<br>You say that I'm kinda difficult  
>But it's always someone else's fault<br>Got you wrapped around my finger, babe  
>You can count on me to misbehave<br>**  
><strong>Primadonna girl<strong>

A week or two later, Edward sat on the dais, watching his eldest daughter – his Reina – marry the Prince of Asturias by proxy. As the Spanish Ambassador led her off away from the dais, having sealed the union with a kiss, his wife, Elizabeth, leaned over to him.

"I hope we haven't made a mistake marrying Katherine to Don Carlos. She's so headstrong; the Spanish Court will hardly like that."

"She's spirited, not headstrong. And anyway, the Spanish Court needs a few more girls like Reina to liven things up," Edward retorted. Elizabeth hid a sigh behind a taut smile.

"You would say that. Katherine's always been your favourite."

_"And your least favourite,"_ Edward thought, but rather than say it out loud, he let his memories of Reina as a child take over.

**Would you do anything for me?  
>Buy a big diamond ring for me?<br>Would you get down on your knees for me?  
>Pop the pretty question right now baby<strong>

_"Papa! Papa!" Katherine, confident that Edward would grant her his attention; that she was free from the constraints of protocol because they were in the nursery and not in public was tugging impatiently on his sleeve. Edward knelt down and scooped her into his arms._

_"Yes, Reina?"_

_"Can I have a household of my own? Please?"_

_"Now why would you want that, hmm?" he laughed, chucking her under the chin, "Don't you like sharing with Maddie?"_

_"No. Maddie's too young little to be any fun. I want companions of my own age. I want a household of my own."_

_Katherine's voice was whiny, pettish, with a determined edge to it. Edward tensed, fearing a major tantrum was ahead._

_"Mama doesn't want you to have one, Reina. You know that," he tried, "And Mama's Queen. We all have to do what Mama says. Even you."_

_"But it's not fair! Alexander's got one! He's at Woodstock! And he's just a baby! I'm almost six! I'm the Lady Princess! I should have one! I should! It's not fair! I should! It's not fair! It's not fair!"_

_Katherine was starting to work herself into temper. Any moment now, she'd be flailing in his arms._

_He shouldn't give in to her. He shouldn't give her hope; not when he knew what Elizabeth's answer would be. She'd say it was too expensive for Katherine to have her own household; that the Privy Council would never allow it; that she herself had shared apartments with her sister, the Lady Blanche right up until her marriage to him and that Katherine and Madeline should do the same. Edward knew all that._

_Nevertheless, when he looked down into Katherine's damp dark eyes, he couldn't resist her. He just wanted to see her smile again._

_"All right, Reina. All right. Hush now. I'll ask Mama, but hush now. Hush."_

**Beauty queen of the silver screen  
>Living life like I'm in a dream<br>I know I've got a big ego  
>I really don't know why it's such a big deal, though<strong>

**I'm sad to the core, core, core  
>Everything is a chore, chore, chore<br>When you give I want more, more, more  
>I wanna be adored<strong>

_"Katherine Tudor-Brandon! You know full well that isn't how you speak to your governess! Apologise to Lady Latimer! Now."_

_Edward hesitated in the corridor outside his childrens' rooms. His wife's voice was high and hard. Always a danger sign._

_"I'm a Princess! She's just a Lady! And a Dowager Lady at that! She has to show me respect, not the other way around!" Katherine screamed. He could picture her, stamping her foot and flushing with anger as her mother scolded her._

_"That doesn't mean she has to serve you on bended knee, especially not if it's painful for her. You're eleven years old. I expect you to know better. Apologise to Lady Latimer."_

_There was a moment's silence and then Katherine muttered sulkily. Elizabeth harrumphed, "It'll do, I suppose."_

_She banged out of the nursery suite, their youngest daughter, Blanche-Elizabeth, on her hip. Seeing Edward there, she glowered at him._

_"This is your fault. You've overindulged this girl. Now go in there and talk some sense into her."_

_Edward didn't bother responding. It was usually best not to when Elizabeth was in this mood. Instead, he walked straight into the nursery suite._

_Katherine, face tear-stained, looked up at him, then flung herself into his arms, "Papa!"_

_"Oh Reina, shh. Shh. It's not that bad."_

_"Mama doesn't love me anymore!"_

_"That's nonsense! Of course she does. She just wants to see you act more like a Princess, that's all."_

_"But I am a Princess!" Katherine pulled back in shock._

_"I know, but sometimes, you're not very nice to those around you. Princesses are supposed to always be nice to those around them. Mama wants to see you do that."_

_"Maddie, Chris, Blanche and Eddie don't have to."_

_"Yes, they do. Besides, Blanche and Eddie are little more than babies. You're the eldest. We expect more of you."_

_"But Papa…"_

_"No buts. Do you think you can do that while you're here?"_

_"Can I do whatever I want with the household while we're at Ashridge?"_

_Katherine instantly pounced on the loophole he had given her. Edward chuckled._

_"I don't see why not. You're nearly a woman, after all. Just make sure it doesn't get too out of hand. I can't be seen to undermine Mama. Understand?"_

_"Yes, Papa! Thank you!" Katherine jumped up at him again, burrowing into him as though she was still a little girl._

_"You still love me, don't you Papa?" she murmured._

_"Oh, Reina," he crooned, burying his hands in her hair, "Of course I do. Come on, we'll go down to the jewellers. You can choose something new to wear for the Spanish Ambassadors."_

_Her face lit up. She sprang to her feet and slipped her hand on to his sleeve. Edward sighed with relief. His Reina was happy again. All was right with the world again._

**Cause I'm a primadonna girl, yeah  
>All I ever wanted was the world<br>I can't help that I need it all  
>The primadonna life, the rise and fall<br>You say that I'm kinda difficult  
>But it's always someone else's fault<br>Got you wrapped around my finger, babe  
>You can count on me to misbehave<strong>

**Primadonna girl**

**Fill the void up with Celluloid  
>Take a picture, I'm with the boys<br>Get what I want cause I asked for it  
>Not because I'm really that deserving of it<br>I'm living life like I'm in a play  
>In the limelight I want to stay<br>I know I've got a big ego  
>I really don't know why it's such a big deal, though<strong>

_"She's impossible, My Lord. One day she'll sit there for hours, but others she'll refuse to be laced into the dress, or else she'll fidget restlessly, demanding to be allowed to practice her dancing instead. Those are the days when she refuses to learn her Spanish. Yet there are also times when she'll refuse to hear a word of English. She's as capricious as a child half her age. It's impossible to run her household. Can't you take her in hand?"_

_"It wouldn't be fitting, Lady Latimer. Her Highness is a young woman of marriageable age and Princess of Asturias besides. I can't interfere in her affairs anymore," Edward snapped, scrawling his signature across a pile of parchments as he spoke, "I've told you this before. You're her governess, it's down to you."_

_"But My Lord, we can't send the Spanish such a wilful girl. Nor can we fail to deliver the portrait on time."_

_"Surely Master Eworth has a miniature that will suffice. And as for Katherine's wilful streak, well, the Spaniards could do with being kept on their toes. Besides which, might I remind you that it's you and Lady Dudley who've had charge of her since her birth. Katherine's a perfect Princess in public. Who do you think the Spaniards will blame if she turns out to be wilful in private?"_

_In his heart of hearts, Edward knew he was being unfair. But he couldn't help himself. His precious Reina had just turned fourteen. In less than a twelvemonth, she'd be sailing for Cadiz. He couldn't bring himself to spoil her last year in England by reining her in._

_"The Princess of Asturias has never yet failed to behave herself in public, Lady Latimer. She's conscious of her rank, you've said it often enough yourself. When she disgraces herself in public, you may rein her in, but until then, leave her alone. Don't spoil her last year here by being a dragoness."_

_"Your Highness…" Lady Latimer protested. Edward cut her off, rising to his feet._

_"This discussion is over, Lady Latimer. Get back to your Mistress."_

**Going up, going down, down, down  
>Anything for the crown, crown, crown<br>With the lights dimming down, down, down  
>I spin around<strong>

Her Highness the Princess of Asturias!"

Edward was startled out of his reverie by Katherine's re-entry into the room. As was tradition, she had left the room on the arm of her 'husband' and come back in, now officially bearing the title "Princess of Asturias", though she'd been addressed by it and called by it by the members of her household for over a year, ever since her betrothal to the Spanish Prince Don Carlos had been finalised.

He pushed himself out of his gilded chair.

"At least one of us loves Reina for who she truly is."  
>Ignoring the hurt that sparked in Elizabeth's eyes at his words, he went across the room to claim his Reina for one last dance.<p>

**Cause I'm a primadonna girl, yeah  
>All I ever wanted was the world<br>I can't help that I need it all  
>The primadonna life, the rise and fall<br>You say that I'm kinda difficult  
>But it's always someone else's fault<br>Got you wrapped around my finger, babe  
>You can count on me to misbehave Cause I'm a primadonna girl, yeah<br>All I ever wanted was the world  
>I can't help that I need it all<br>The primadonna life, the rise and fall  
>You say that I'm kinda difficult<br>But it's always someone else's fault  
>Got you wrapped around my finger, babe<br>You can count on me to misbehave  
>Primadonna girl<strong>


	70. Away in a Manger

_AU: Lady Eleanor Boleyn's lovely story to Away In A Manger in belated honour of Christmas. What if Mary's phantom pregnancy hadn't been a phantom pregnancy at all? Set in 1555._

**Away in a manger  
>No crib for His bed<br>The little Lord Jesus  
>Lay down His sweet head<br>The stars in the sky  
>Look down where He lay<br>The little Lord Jesus  
>Asleep on the hay<strong>

Queen Mary couldn't stop gazing at the precious children in her arms. They were hers. Hers and hers alone. She'd done it. She'd proved all her critics wrong; all those who'd said she was too old to have a child; that she was wrong to marry a Spaniard; that she should have been content to leave her throne to her heretic bastard of a sister. Well, she hadn't been. Elizabeth was a heretic. She'd only have undone all of their good works and turned England back towards those benighted days when children died unbaptised, marriages weren't holy and all the populace suffered under the dark cloud of excommunication, unable even to have the consolation of knowing that their faith was the True one.

And now she didn't have to leave her throne to Elizabeth. The babes in her arms made sure of that. True, they were a little small, but that was only because there were three of them. And they'd soon grow strong on her milk, for she would feed them herself. Nothing would be good enough for these three but the milk of God's anointed Queen.

Triplets. Princess Katherine, Princess Grace and the most beloved of them all, Prince Isaiah. Isaiah, for just as the first Isaiah had proclaimed the Coming of the Messiah, so would her little boy ensure the continuation of God's true Church in England.

Triplets. Now, if that wasn't a sign that God was smiling on her reign and her plans to re-establish the True Faith in her kingdom, then surely nothing else was.

**The cattle are lowing  
>The baby wakes<em><br>_But little Lord Jesus  
>No crying He makes<br>I love Thee, Lord Jesus  
>Look down from the sky<br>And stay by my side  
>'Til morning is nigh<strong>

The children were asleep, but as though he could sense her thoughts, Isaiah's sleepy eyes suddenly flickered open and he gazed up at her serenely. Mary held her breath – if he started crying, he'd wake his sisters and Queen though she was, she couldn't deal with three crying babies at once. But he didn't start crying. Instead, he just blinked at her slowly.

Unable to help herself, Mary had to fight back tears as she bent to kiss his tiny forehead.

"Do you know how loved you are, Isaiah, my darling? I doubt you do. I doubt there's ever been a mother who loves her son as much as I love you. But you've made everything perfect. Everything. Elizabeth will have no choice but to yield to me now. She'll have to accept that she'll never be Queen; that she'll be lucky to marry the Duke of Savoy. If she accepts it graciously, then I'll bestow a title on her in her own right. She can be Countess of Nottingham, the same way my half-brother was Earl of Richmond when we were children. I might even let her have her mother's old title of Marquess of Pembroke. If she swears to uphold my rights and yours above her own. If she converts to Catholicism and accepts her own bastard status, the way I had to accept mine at her age. And your father will like it. I know he likes her, as any man would like a sister as vivacious as she. For your father will have to come back to England. War or no war, you are his son, Isaiah and he will have to come and see you. And me. He'll have to come and see us. So yes, you've made everything perfect. Everything."

**Be near me Lord Jesus  
>I ask Thee to stay<br>Close by me forever  
>And love me, I pray<br>Bless all the dear children  
>In Thy tender care<br>And take us to Heaven  
>To live with Thee there<strong>

Laying Isaiah gently in the bassinet beside her great bed of State, Mary picked up her daughters and transferred them to their own beds, rocking them gently as they whimpered at the movement. Soothed by her warmth, they soon sank back into the deep oblivion of sleep.

Clasping her hands, Mary offered up the most fervent prayer of her life. "Thank you Lord, for these wonderful blessings which will bring me nothing but joy and peace for the rest of my days. Help me to make England ready to accept my son, Your gift to me, as her King. May You keep your Merciful hand over my children, for they are also Your children. May I be the mother worthy of having such gifts in her life. I Bless You, Lord, all the days of my life, in the name of my namesake, Your Virgin Queen and of Your Son, Our Saviour Jesus Christ."

Then she fell back on to the soft swansdown pillows and had soon joined her children in their blissful rest, a contented smile gracing her worn features.


	71. Broken Crown

**A/N: Hi, GreenField here. I've wanted to do something for this song for a while, and today I had the perfect idea for it. So, Lady Jane Grey to Broken Crown by Mumford and Sons. Please review!**

**_Touch my mouth and hold my tongue  
>I'll never be your chosen one<br>I'll be home, safe and tucked away  
>You can't tempt me if I don't see the day<em>**

"No! No, I won't!"

No-one would expect me, meek and mousey little Lady Jane, to act in this way. The chair that I was sitting on clatters to the floor, knocked by my flying hands.

"You will do as we tell you, Jane" my father insists, his voice cold and determined. He is always determined, he and my mother, always determined to make me obey. Oh, and how I do _not_ wish to obey!

"I shan't marry him. Father, I do not love him, and the Dudleys are a power-hungry bunch of vultures. I cannot marry Guilford, father, please don't make me do it. If I marry Guilford we're just a few steps from the throne, and I cannot make Edward – I mean, his Majesty – feel any unease"

"The King is soon to die" my mother snaps. She is holding the birch rod she always uses on me, the instrument of torture. I can hear the sound it makes as it whistles through the air and cracks on my bare flesh. Fear swallows my voice.

"Treason" I croak, and my mother snorts.

"Treason? We are as much royalty as he is. And we cannot have England run by a Catholic once he is gone. He will appoint you his successor and we can rule a good England, a Godly England, a Protestant England. Do you not wish this for your faith?"

"Of course I do, but my lady mother – "

The rod whips through the space between us and cracks me on the side of my face. I gasp, clapping my hand to my scarlet cheek. The force of the blow has made me fall and I lay on the ground, helpless and bleeding.

"I WILL NOT MARRY HIM!" I scream. I scream this now because I know that, after another round of blows, I will no longer be able to speak, let alone scream. In fact, I may not even be able to breathe. Maybe this is what my parents want.

I see Catherine in the doorway, my little sister, as my mother strikes another blow on my shoulder blade - I am crouched in defence and this is the first thing she reaches. Catherine looks away quickly, scared to be associated with me, and ushers poor limping Mary away.

The pain is unbearable. I cannot think or move, but I have just enough breath left to speak, and I say the words that are the last things my parents want to hear;

"I'll never do it. I'll never marry Guilford and I'll never be Queen. I will not be your vessel"

Everything goes black.

**_The pull on my flesh was just too strong  
>It stifles the choice and the air in my lungs<br>Better not to breathe than to breathe a lie  
>'Cause when I open my body I breathe a lie<em>**

When I stir again, both my parents are still standing over me. I prop myself up on an elbow, blood running into my eyes. They have not noticed that I wake; they are speaking in urgent, hurried undertones.

"She must consent" my father hisses, "I have given Dudley my word"

"We'll pull her to the church by her hair if we have to"

"Frances, there must be some _reason_ -she cannot be such a devil as to simply want to disobey us. Is there another that she loves?"

My mother glances down and sees that my eyes are open. Her own eyes narrow and darken.

"You heard your father!" she barks, "Is there?"

I cannot lie. I could never lie, not about my love for him. I sit up straighter, testing my body to see if it is strong enough for the blows that will surely follow my coming confession.

"Yes, my Lady Mother"

I prepare for the blow, but it does not come. My parents are both staring at me, clearly surprised and somewhat alarmed.

"Have you compromised yourself, Jane?" Mother asks suddenly, her voice sharp as the lash of the rod, "Have you?"

"No, no, of course not. He...he knows not of my feelings"

Both of them stare at me some more. Then my mother begins to laugh, a bitter, harsh laugh that makes me more angry than fearful. I rise to my feet, slightly shaken still.

"And why do you laugh at me, my Lady Mother?"

I try to sound regal and I think it works, for she stops in her tracks and eyes me speculatively.

"She'll do it" she says to my wary Father, still eyeing me, "She is not strong. She'll marry Guilford"

I open my mouth to protest again, anger flaring, but Catherine is standing in the doorway behind my mother and she shakes her head frantically, ever the fearful, ever the cautious.

"Stop it, Jane" she mimes, and I halt before I can speak, giving in. Mother gives Father a satisfied nod and the two of them leave the room. As they depart I notice that Catherine, too, has disappeared. Even she is too frightened to help me, my own sister. What chance have I?

**_I will not speak of your sin  
>There was a way out for him<br>The mirror shows not  
>Your values are all shot<em>**

The bells are still clanging dolefully. Just weeks after that incident with my parents, after my marriage to Guilford, King Edward is dead. I saw him once, before he died, just for a moment –I ran towards his bedchamber while my father was speaking with Guilford's father, to try and catch a glimpse of the boy who I loved, the boy who became King of England at only nine years old. He looked even smaller than he had then, wasted away to almost nothing. They pulled me away before I could call to him.

I did not tell my Mother that it is Edward I loved, for she would have laughed, but I think she knows all the same. I am pale and wasted as he was, I barely eat a scrap at meals and I haven't snapped at Guilford once since that last sighting. And now the bells tell me that he has, finally, breathed his last.

Red-eyed, I rise to look at myself in the looking-glass. My parents tell me that we must leave this house now – we are to meet the Dudleys for some special meeting, and I am sure that I know what will come to pass.

Edward has named me his heir. I do not know it for certain, but I overheard a conversation which sounded very similar between Catherine and my mother earlier on. It makes me feel sick to think of it.

Looking at my reflection, I try to imagine the crown of Saint Edward resting on top of my mousey hair, but I cannot. I am sixteen years old, I don't know how to be a Queen. I don't _want_ to be a Queen.

But they will not let me rest until I accept the crown.

**_But oh, my heart was flawed  
>I knew my weakness<br>So hold my hand  
>Consign me not to darkness<em>**

My husband enters my room as I am contemplating what to do – my husband Guilford, who hates me almost as much as I hate him. He is handsome, to be sure – I have seen Catherine eyeing him surreptitiously, despite the fact that she is very happy with _he_r new husband – but he knows nothing of the world. He is not learned, he is not kind – he is ignorant, boorish, he eats his food as though he thinks someone is waiting to swipe the plate from him the second he pauses in his meal. My Mother says I do not like him because I was determined not to – she struck me on the cheek to emphasise the point – but that is not it. If Guilford Dudley were the last man on earth, I would not love him, and that is the truth of it.

"We have to leave now" he speaks, too, like a sullen child. How could I ever love him in the same way as Edward when the two of them are so very, very different? But maybe Guilford can help me, maybe he might _try _–

"You know as well as I do that I am unfit to be Queen, Guilford. You are my husband. Command me to stay and I cannot go. You have only to speak the words"

He studies me, almost with interest, "I don't know how fit to be a Queen you are, wife. But I do know that I am in line to be a King, all thanks to your Royal blood. And that is not a chance that I will throw away"

Anger flares inside me, the anger that Catherine has always told me I should try to suppress – it seems to get me into so much trouble.

"You think I will make you King? I tried to ask for your help, Guilford, and God knows I have tried to love you and to understand you, but you stop me at every turn – and now you want to be King! It cannot be borne. It will not be borne"  
><em><br>**So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down**  
><strong>I'll never wear your broken crown<strong>  
><strong>I took the road and I fucked it all away<strong>  
><strong>Now in this twilight how dare you speak of grace<strong>_

We are in the hall at Westminster. The Lords are watching me, the courtiers that my father has managed to win over, the Dudleys and, of course, my parents.

"King Edward, God rest his soul, named you his heir on his deathbed" Norfolk paces around me; I feel trapped, and short of breath, "Will you accept the crown?"

"No"

The reply, unexpected by everyone but my family and myself, rings out loudly in the large room. Several women gasp. My father steps forward.

"She knows not what she is saying" he says briskly, moving towards me, "King Edward was her cousin and she has been greatly moved by his passing. My daughter would not, of course, wish to ignore her dear cousin's last wishes"

"I would also not wish to ignore the wishes of my uncle, good King Henry. His last will and testament state that, after King Edward, God rest his soul, the Princess Mary – _Queen _Mary – should succeed if there are no issue. And there are not. Therefore, Queen Mary should succeed to the throne"

"King Edward, God rest his soul, was the last ruling monarch, therefore it is his wishes that must be accepted" my father speaks through gritted teeth, "You will do it, Jane. For Edward and for England"

"And for you" I retort coldly. My father does not usually strike me, but I can sense that he would like to at this moment. His face is mottled with red.

"That is no matter. It is your duty to Edward and to our religion to accept the crown" he lowers his voice, "We know that you loved him. Don't you wish to honour his memory?"

His words sting as though he _has _struck me, "You cannot possibly know how I felt about him. And I have done my duty by marrying Guilford. I will do no more"

"It is your duty" my father repeats, louder than before.

The room goes very, very quiet. I turn away from them all, trying to block them out, but their silence is somehow more deafening than if they were all shouting at the tops of their voices.

_Take the crown, Jane._

My spine stiffens, suddenly. Did I imagine it, the voice of Edward rising from his grave? Or did I not? Was it real?

_Do it for our faith, Jane. I have put my trust in you_.

I definitely did not imagine that second time. I gasp, and reach out to grasp the arm of the throne to steady myself. Several people murmur excitedly.

I won't do it.

I can't do it.

I will do it.

_**So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down**  
><strong>I'll never wear your broken crown<strong>  
><strong>I can take the road and I can fuck it all away<strong>  
><strong>But in this twilight our choices seal our fate<strong>  
><em>


	72. Like a Rose on the Grave of Love

**A/N: Another amazing chapter from the awesome Lady Eleanor Boleyn! Mary Brandon, Xandria's 'Like a Rose on the Grave of Love'.**

Mary Brandon _nee_Tudor, Duchess of Suffolk, former Queen of France and Princess of England lay on her deathbed. Oh, no one told her it was her deathbed, but she knew it was. She knew it by the way her eldest daughter, Frances, stayed at her side, weeping softly, when, normally, she'd have been up and out and riding across the fields by now, ignoring the proper behaviour for a girl of her age. Just like Mary herself used to do. She knew it by the way the blood seemed to thicken in her lungs and at the base of her throat, making it harder and harder to breathe. And she knew it by the way her memories kept flashing before her eyes, playing tricks on her and making it seem as though _he_stood there, when in reality, he was scores of miles away, carousing and making merry with her brother, the King.

_Come like the dusk**  
><strong>Like a rose on the grave of love**  
><strong>You are my lust**  
><strong>Like a rose on the grave of love_

_I curse the day I first saw you**  
><strong>Like a rose that is born to bloom**  
><strong>Don't look at me the way you do**  
><strong>Like the roses, they fear the gloom_

Oh, why had she fallen for him? Why? It would have made life so much easier if she hadn't. She could have gone to France, lived happily as Louis's wife until he died a natural death, then come home to take her place in Harry's court as his widowed sister. She could have been the second most important and the most independent woman in England, but for the fact that she'd fallen for Charles Brandon. Fallen for him as hard as any love-struck maid falls for the object of her first crush.

"Damn you, Charles Brandon! I did everything for you! Everything!" she hissed venomously, taking her wrath out on the spectre who seemed to lurk in the corner of her room, that sardonic smile she'd come to hate so much tweaking at his lips.

"Mama? What is it? Do you need anything?" Frances leaned in to hear her, but Mary was already shaking her head, for it was true. What she really needed was not in Frances's power to give. She needed her life back, her life back so that she could steer a different course, a course that would take her far, far away from Charles Brandon, never to see him or to fall for him. But she couldn't tell Frances that. Not only was it considered a sin for a wife to hate her husband, but it would break the young girl's heart, for she adored her father and thought he could do no wrong.

But wasn't it true? Didn't Mary have every right to hate the man she had once loved? Hadn't she done everything for him? Hadn't she killed Louis for him? Married him in France, in a hurried marriage that was a far cry from the one she deserved, being both a Princess of England and the future Duchess of Suffolk? Hadn't she stood by him when Henry raged at them both? Of course she had. Oh that she hadn't!

_Your thorns, they kissed my blood**  
><strong>Your beauty heals, your beauty kills**  
><strong>And who would know better than I do?**  
><strong>Pretend you love me_

_Come like the dusk**  
><strong>Like a rose on the grave of love**  
><strong>You are my lust**  
><strong>Like a rose on the grave of love_

She'd have saved herself an awful lot of heartbreak if she hadn't…if she'd heeded her governess's warnings and reconciled herself to her fate as Queen of France rather than recklessly following her course of pursuing Charles Brandon, but then, she'd only been seventeen. Seventeen and bedazzled by the handsome young gentleman who'd teased her and danced with her, who'd made her feel like her opinions really mattered, even though she was just a woman, and a woman a good decade younger than him at that. She'd loved him and had fooled herself into assuming that the blazing smiles that he favoured her with, the breathless dances they shared and the look in his eyes when she made him her champion for the jousts rather than her brother meant that he loved her too.

Which meant that she was only setting herself up for heartbreak later.

_Indeed reality seems far**  
><strong>When a rose is in love with you**  
><strong>Slaves of our hearts, that's what we are**  
><strong>We loved and died where roses grew_

_They watched us silently**  
><strong>A rose is free, a rose is wild**  
><strong>And who would know better than I do?**  
><strong>Roses are not made for love_

To give Charles his due, Mary really believed he had tried at first. He'd tried to treat her as he ought to, those first few weeks in France and later, when first Hal and then Frances and then Ella came along. But he just wasn't the kind of man who could stay faithful to one woman, especially not when that woman came with so many trials and tribulations, as she had. Harry had imposed crippling fines on them both for wedding without his permission, had banished them both from Court, and being the kind of people they were, they both needed the Court. Being trapped in the country had started to put cracks in their marriage and when Charles was finally accepted back at Court, but she had had to stay behind because of her pregnancy, those cracks had widened to the extent where he had taken a mistress. A Mistress, who occupied his days and nights in the way Mary once had. And she wasn't a woman to settle for being second best.

She'd known that from the start, known that her pride and their passionate natures might cause trouble for them one day, but in those heady weeks in France, she'd ignored it, pressed for their marriage because she was sure that they could overcome them; overcome anything as long as they were husband and wife. And now where was she? An abandoned wife who'd married lower than she ought to have done, who'd had four children but seen only three live to anywhere near adulthood, who lay coughing up blood as her husband caroused at Court.

She should have listened to everyone around her when they cautioned against Charles Brandon, should have understood that he'd never have made her happy. But she hadn't. She'd been too stubborn to see anything but her own blind desire and now she was paying for it. God damn Charles! God damn his charm! God damn her foolishness! God damn them both! God damn them both!

_Come like the dusk**  
><strong>Like a rose on the grave of love**  
><strong>You are my lust**  
><strong>Like a rose on the grave of love_

_Come like the dusk**  
><strong>Like a rose on the grave of love**  
><strong>You are my lust**  
><strong>Like a rose on the grave of love_


	73. Begin Again

**A/N: A great one-shot from Lady Eleanor Boleyn, as always. Katherine Parr/Thomas Seymour to Begin Again by Taylor Swift.**

_Took a deep breath in the mirror**  
><strong>He didn't like it when I wore high heels**  
><strong>But I do**  
><strong>Turn the lock and put my headphones on**  
><strong>He always said he didn't get this song**  
><strong>But I do, I do_

Unable to help herself, Katherine Parr glanced her reflection up and down in the mirror. She looked…pretty. For the first time since she'd married John, she looked…pretty. Attractive. As a woman in her mid twenties should. She was wearing a gown of deep blue raw taffeta encrusted with just a few small diamonds. A costlier dress than she usually did; a costlier dress than John generally liked her to wear. But then, she'd never had to impress a courtier before; never had to implore a man of the world to help her raise the funds to not only treat her husband's illness, but also run his estates as a Baron's estates should be run. It was no wonder she was wearing a better dress than normal.

Just then, her stepdaughter Margaret walked in, saying, "Sir Thomas has arrived, Mama. I've put him in the library and told him..," she broke off as Katherine turned towards her. "Mama! You look beautiful!" she gasped.

God forgive her, but at Margaret's exclamation, Katherine smiled proudly, relishing her rare chance at vanity. John didn't like her to look too pretty; said it not only reminded him of what he was missing, but encouraged wrong fancies in the servants. Katherine generally obeyed his wishes, as any good wife should, but that didn't mean she didn't enjoy dressing up when she had an excuse to do so.

"Thank you, darling," she whispered, stroking Margaret's cheek as she passed, "Now, go back to your studies, please. I'll come and hear your lessons when I'm finished with Sir Thomas."

_Walked in expecting you'd be late**  
><strong>But you got here early and you stand and wave**  
><strong>I walk to you**  
><strong>You pull my chair out and help me in**  
><strong>And you don't know how nice that is**  
><strong>But I do_

Her visitor turned as she entered and Katherine curtsied, "Sir Thomas. Forgive me for having kept you waiting. Unfortunately, my husband's health is not what it once was and I have more duties than I used to."

"Of course, Lady Latimer, of course," Sir Thomas reassured her, coming across to her and raising her up before kissing her hand gallantly, "I quite understand."

"I'm glad. May I offer you some wine? Or some ale? I'm afraid we don't have quite the selection of drinks you must be used to at Court, but I think we can offer a reasonable enough choice for all that," she asked, wondering why she was being so defensive. She wanted to do her best by John and the children, of course, but this was more than usual.

"Ale, please, Lady Latimer," Sir Thomas replied. Katherine signed to the servants to see to it and then offered him a seat, startled when, rather than sitting down, he came around behind her to help her into a chair first before taking his own place opposite her.

"Than-Thank you," she stuttered, flushing beetroot red.

"It's nothing," he replied, leaning back to take his ale from the maid as she scurried back into the room, "Now, what can I do for you?"

"Well, I'm sure you know that Snape Castle was besieged during the Pilgrimage last autumn. My husband…people say that he gave way to the rebels, that he professed his loyalty to them. But he didn't! He didn't! John is, and always has been, a loyal servant to His Majesty. He lost his health because he was imprisoned by the rebels when they stormed his residence. But people don't realise that. They think he's a traitor to the Crown when he's not. It's both paining him and making it hard for us to manage his lands as they should be managed. You're the King's brother-in-law; Uncle to the Prince. If you would only stand by us, if you could persuade the King of John's loyalty, we'd be forever grateful."

Katherine had intended to keep her composure somewhat better than that, but when she opened her mouth, the worries and strains of the last few months had just become too much for her and she ended up pleading with the knight in front of her as though she was little more than a common woman; as though she wasn't Maud Parr's daughter. The colour flooded back into her cheeks and her discomfort only worsened when Sir Thomas threw his head back and laughed; laughed a deep belly laugh.

_And you throw your head back laughing**  
><strong>Like a little kid**  
><strong>I think it's strange that you think I'm funny cause**  
><strong>He never did**  
><strong>I've been spending the last 8 months**  
><strong>Thinking all love ever does**  
><strong>Is break and burn and end**  
><strong>But on a Wednesday in a cafe**  
><strong>I watched it begin again_

Katherine watched him laughing for a few moments, struggling with her own emotions. At last she said icily, "I took you for a true Knight, Sir Thomas, but if you continue to laugh at a woman in such distress, I may have to rethink that assessment."

At the sharpness in her voice, Sir Thomas wiped his eyes and visibly pulled himself together.

"Forgive me, Kathy," he chuckled, "but if you're looking to me to restore your husband to favour with His Majesty, I think you may have come to the wrong Seymour. It is Edward King Henry favours, not me. After all, Edward is the better politician and has the shrewder mind, which is precisely what His Majesty needs right now, since he is too distraught with grief over the death of my late sister to attend to Matters of State."

Katherine knew he was being too familiar; knew she should scold him for using a nickname for her, rather than her full name or her title, but she didn't. She couldn't bring herself to. It had sounded so nice; so natural on his lips; so different from the awkward "my dear" or "darling" that John bestowed on her if she'd particularly pleased him. Instead, she caught his eye and quirked her lips up into the faintest of smiles to let him know he'd pleased her, before saying, "So does that mean you will not even try?"

"Oh, no no! Quite the opposite! I only wish to warn you that I may not be successful. If that is enough for you, then I give you my solemn word that I will do everything I can to ease your burden."

"Thank you, Sir Thomas." Relief washed over Katherine and, when he leaned over and put his hand on hers, saying, "Now tell me, what is a refined, educated lady such as yourself doing so far north?", she found she had no qualms about laughing and retorting that her father had been a Cumbria man and her mother from Northamptonshire, so it was only natural she too would have gravitated north after her childhood at Court.

_You said you never met one girl who**  
><strong>Had as many James Taylor records as you**  
><strong>But I do**  
><strong>We tell stories and you don't know why**  
><strong>I'm coming off a little shy**  
><strong>But I doAnd you throw your head back laughing**  
><strong>Like a little kid**  
><strong>I think it's strange that you think I'm funny cause**  
><strong>He never did**  
><strong>I've been spending the last 8 months**  
><strong>Thinking all love ever does**  
><strong>Is break and burn and end**  
><strong>But on a Wednesday in a cafe**  
><strong>I watched it begin again_

Thomas was charming and witty, exactly the kind of young man Katherine used to love socialising with before John's health failed him and he had retreated to his estates, forcing her to go with him and nurse him. She liked John, respected him even, but an irascible man twice her age was not the man she had intended to wed when she'd been a child or even a young woman. She wouldn't have married him at all, had her mother's death not left her family in worsened straits; straits so bad that she had felt it necessary to allow William to wed her to this much older man, so that she ceased to be his responsibility. And yes, they had had some pleasant times, John and she, but just lately, John's illness and recurrent fits of bad temper were making it harder and harder to remember what those had been. Thomas – Katherine found herself already calling him Thomas in her thoughts as though she already knew that their lives were inextricably entwined – brought all those good memories back.

She would happily have sat there talking all afternoon, if her stepson John hadn't come in, saying "Father's asking for you, Mother."

Jumping as though she had been scalded, Katherine turned to him, "Tell him I'll be there as soon as I've seen Sir Thomas out, John."

The boy nodded and Katherine rose to her feet, "Well, Sir Thomas, you'd better be going. It's a long ride back to Court and though these April evenings are light, they're still cool at times. You don't want to lose the warmth of the sun."

"No need to fret, Lady Latimer," he assured her, jolted back into formality by her son's appearance, "This cloak is warmer than it looks, especially if one is riding."

_And we walked down the block, to my car**  
><strong>And I almost brought him up**  
><strong>But you start to talk about the movies**  
><strong>That your family watches every single Christmas**  
><strong>And I want to talk about that**  
><strong>And for the first time**  
><strong>What's past is past_

It wasn't necessary, but Katherine found herself walking Sir Thomas to the front door, filling the extra time with idle talk of how he found Court and whether he thought little Prince Edward was faring well or not.

And then they reached the door and she was lingering against the doorjamb, watching their page tighten his horse's girth as he too, hesitated.

A sudden ringing of a bell disturbed their companionable silence. Katherine started.

"My husband! I must go!"

"Very well, Lady Latimer. I shall visit again soon to let you know how I am faring in championing your cause." Thomas bowed over her hand and Katherine nodded, "Do, please, Sir Thomas. I look forward to it."

She curtsied and when she rose, he was already swinging himself up into the saddle. He paused to look back at her for just a moment – the sweetest of moments! – and then he had touched his heels to his horse's sides and was gone.

"Katherine!"

Her husband's bell was ringing again. There was anger in his voice. Katherine turned and ran up the stairs to his sickroom, unable to stop either the colour in her cheeks or the sparkle in her eyes. John would hate them, but she found herself unable to stop them.

_And you throw your head back laughing**  
><strong>Like a little kid**  
><strong>I think it's strange that you think I'm funny cause**  
><strong>He never did**  
><strong>I've been spending the last 8 months**  
><strong>Thinking all love ever does**  
><strong>Is break and burn and end**  
><strong>But on a Wednesday in a cafe**  
><strong>I watched it begin againBut on a Wednesday in a cafe**  
><strong>I watched it begin again_


	74. Tied Together with a Smile

**A/N: Hi, GreenField here. My collaborator was making me feel guilty, so here's one I was debating for a while -Princess Mary (Henry's daughter, not his sister) and Charles Brandon to Taylor Swift's Tied Together with a Smile. Please review!**

_Seems the only one who doesn't see your beauty_  
><em>Is the face in the mirror looking back at you<em>  
><em>You walk around here thinking you're not pretty<em>  
><em>But that's not true, 'cause I know you<em>

Mary smoothed her dress, black in mourning for her mother, and studied her face. She was pale and peaky with eyes red from copious weeping; her brown hair hung loosely around her face, and she was so slender she looked as though she hadn't eaten for weeks. And maybe she hadn't – she definitely couldn't remember her last meal. She knew she looked hideous. But she owed it to her mother to keep smiling, hold her head high and wait for her destiny to be fulfilled. It was the duty of the granddaughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, the duty of Catherine of Aragon's daughter.

Plus, she would not let the brat Elizabeth see her cry.

"You look very well, my Lady"

Mary turned slowly, her face colouring as she recognised the deep, reassuring voice of the man she knew had always supported her over the Boleyn harlot. Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk; the man who made Mary's blood boil with desire rather than hate.

"My lord Suffolk" she inclined her head slightly; she knew she ought to curtsey but she could not quite bring herself to do it, not even for him, "A kind untruth. I have been in deep grieving for my mother, but am recovering now"

"You should not rush grieving. It makes it more difficult to cope with later on" his voice was soft, and she felt a vile rush of jealousy for his dead wife, her beautiful Aunt the first Princess Mary. How could she envy a dead woman? It seemed so wrong to do so.

"It is as the people expect of me"

"I am aware" he lips quirked slightly at her haughty retort, "And I believe that the people will be satisfied with your facade. You look as lovely as ever"

She gasped; for a moment, she merely stammered and blushed. She turned her back to him so he could not see her face.

"What facade?"

_Hold on baby, you're losing it_  
><em>The water's high, you're jumping into it<em>  
><em>And letting go and no one knowsThat you cry but you don't tell anyone<em>  
><em>That you might not be the golden one<em>  
><em>And you're tied together with a smile<em>  
><em>But you're coming undone<em>

He laughed, he could not help it – she sounded angry that he had dared suggest she might not be as happy and well as she always seemed.

"It may work very well for the common people, my Lady, the smile you force as you give out alms and wish them good health, but do not forget that I am a courtier. A courtier who has known you since birth, no less. And I can tell when you are unhappy"

"What induces you to believe that you know my feelings so well?" she turned back to face him; her blush had receded and she was doing it again, the smile that she smiled for duty, not for real mirth.

"I come to see you very often, do I not?"

"You come to see the little bastard" the words had slipped out before she could stop them, and she clapped a hand to her mouth, but Charles merely laughed bitterly.

"You see? You can be yourself with me, but you don't realise that you are doing it. You sense, instinctively, that I understand you. That I empathise with you. That I can see you are holding yourself together will all your might and it is only a matter of time before you crumble"

Mary gave another gasp; never had a man spoken to her so abruptly, so bluntly, before, "I – my Lord – "

"See? I know you better than you could ever have suspected"

"You don't know anything about me" her mother's fiery Spanish temper was beginning to rise within her, and her face was mottled with anger.

"I know that you cry when you think no-one can hear you"

"Anyone might have guessed that" she retorted sharply, "My mother has just _died_, my Lord Suffolk"

"Very well, then. I know that you crave the love of your father more than anything –that you long to, once again, be his pearl"**  
><strong>

_I guess it's true that love was all you wanted  
>'Cause you're giving it away like it's extra change<br>Hoping it will end up in his pocket  
>But he leaves you out like a penny in the rainOh, 'cause it's not his price to pay<br>Not his price to pay_

Mary had frozen. She was trembling with rage, and her lower lip was wobbling. She pressed her fingertips to her lips to hold back the sobs.

"How-How do you know? Can everyone see it?"

"No" his voice had softened to a tone of unexpected gentleness, "Just me. Because I know you. I see it in your eyes whenever he comes to visit – you see him mollycoddling the little Princess and you remember the days when you were the apple of his eye, as she is now. You look at him like a puppy begging for food, desperate for affection. Desperate for love"

"You are being too forward, my Lord"

"Am I?" he took a step closer to her, "I'm only saying what we both know to be true. And, while we are on the subject, I know too how desperately you long to be loved"

"My Lord!"

"I know because I understand your longings" his voice was forlorn; Mary's eyes fixed on his.

"You have a wife" her voice was bitter.

"Oh, Mary, Mary, quite contrary. A woman now, but still so much a child in your heart"

"Don't speak to me like that"

"Why not? Someone has to break down that gilt cage you have built around your heart. Someone has to; else you'll come completely undone"

"And you wish to be that someone?"

"Don't be silly, Mary. We both know that I already am that someone"

They were so close now that, had she desired to, Mary could have counted the freckles that scattered his face from the time he spent in sunshine sporting pursuits. She wondered if he could see how bloodshot her eyes were, the swirl of dark colours underneath her eyes from lack of sleep.

"Adultery is a sin"

"Who said anything about adultery?" he couldn't help but grin at the horror on her face when he said that, "Now we know what _you've_ been thinking, young Madam"

"I didn't – " she began, mortified, but he cut her off.

"Don't be embarrassed. I come here so often to see you, Mary. To let you know that there will always be someone, somewhere, on your side. To stop you from drowning in all those emotions you keep bottled up"

_Hold on baby, you're losing it_  
><em>The water's high, you're jumping into it<em>  
><em>And letting go and no one knowsThat you cry but you don't tell anyone<em>  
><em>That you might not be the golden one<em>  
><em>And you're tied together with a smile<em>  
><em>But you're coming undone<em>

"So, my Lady – my Mary" he inclined his head towards hers; his warm breath brushed her cheek, light as a feather-touch, "May I kiss you?"

She bit her lip, indecisive, and looked at him. He seemed to be serious. He really did look as though he wanted to kiss her.

"Is this another of Francis Bryan's jokes? Did he send you here to seduce me?" she coloured, "Because if he has, I want nothing to do with it, please – "

"It's not a joke, you foolish girl"

And before Mary had time to be horrified at the fact that she had just been called a foolish girl for the first time in her life, he had pressed his lips to hers.

And she felt herself rising out of the water's depths, rising out of the drowning deep, to be rescued by his loving embrace.**Hold on baby, you're losing it****  
><strong>_The water's high, you're jumping into it_  
><em>And letting go and no one knowsThat you cry but you don't tell anyone<em>  
><em>That you might not be the golden one<em>  
><em>And you're tied together with a smile<em>  
><em>But you're coming undoneYou're tied together with a smile<em>  
><em>But you're coming undoneGoodbye, baby<em>  
><em>With a smile, baby, baby<em>


	75. On my First Daughter

_AN: Poemfic to Jonson's 'On My First Daughter' by Lady Eleanor Boleyn. Henry and Katherine attend the memorial service for their eldest daughter's death. AU – the New Year's child of 1510 died after six months of life and wasn't stillborn; they named her Mary…oh and I used the Gregorian calendar dates, not ours, so don't get confused by the grave inscription!_

Here lies, to each her parents' ruth,**  
><strong>Mary, the daughter of their youth;

Henry stood by Katherine's side, his hand in hers. He could hear her sniffling quietly, but knew that to say anything; to do anything to draw attention to the fact that she was acting anything less than regal; that she was acting more the bereaved mother than the perfectly long-suffering Queen would shame her. And he did not desire to shame her, so he said nothing, only tore his eyes from the grand memorial that marked his mother's grave and looked down at the tiny, but no less ornate, grave at their feet.

_Princess Mary Tudor__  
><em>_January 31 1509 – July 2 1510__  
><em>_I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, LORD, only makest me dwell in safety._

As he read it over again, Henry felt his own heart ache; ache for the child, who, such a short time ago, he had held in his arms and dandled before the Court as their one and only Princess Mary. Why had she gone? Why? She had been such a healthy, vibrant child, kicking and gurgling happily every time he saw her. He could never have guessed, that just six months into her short life, she would have contracted a summer fever and had all that life sucked out of her as quickly as a dry tree bursts into flame in a thunderstorm.

Yet all heaven's gifts being heaven's due,**  
><strong>It makes the father less to rue.

Oh that he could have her back! Oh, that he could go back in time and send his best physicians to nurse her through the fever. Or better yet, never send her away from Court at all. If she hadn't had her own household, she would have been fine. They'd all been fine on their progress. If she'd gone with them; if he hadn't deemed her too young to travel, she would have been fine too. She'd still be here and not lying cold and lifeless in the ground. She would have been here to welcome her new brothers into the world in just a few months' time.

Still, she was safe now. Safe in her loving Father's arms. After all, as a helpless babe, there was no power either on Earth or in Hell that could have stopped her being taken straight up to Heaven. He and Katherine had done everything right, after all. They'd had her baptised and confirmed at a week old, they'd given public thanks for her arrival and they'd treated her with all the love and care an infant could wish for. Moreover, not a single miscreant or person of dubious reputation had been allowed anywhere near their daughter. So, yes, little Mary's place in Heaven was assured. He could take comfort from that.

He could also take comfort from the fact that, until her sudden demise from the summer fever, little Mary had been a bonny, lively child. True, she hadn't been a boy, hadn't been a Prince of Wales, but even a beautiful healthy girl was more than most families managed at the end of their first pregnancy and childbed. Hadn't his mother been the first of three girls before her brother came along? Hadn't Katherine, like his grandmother, Elizabeth Woodville, felt the child quicken not four months after their wedding? Hadn't she fallen pregnant again within three months of Mary's death – nine months of her birth? Wasn't she due to come to term in three months? Wasn't she already showing larger and carrying the child higher than she ever had with Mary – a sure sign, the midwives assured them, that she was carrying twins? Weren't they both still young – young enough to have plenty more children? Yes, grieve though he might for his lost Princess Mary, there were still enough signs of God's favour smiling on the both of them for him to draw comfort from.

At six months' end, she parted hence**  
><strong>With safety of her innocence;**  
><strong>Whose soul heaven's queen, whose name she bears,**  
><strong>In comfort of her mother's tears,**  
><strong>Hath placed amongst her virgin-train:

"She's in Heaven now, Henry. Our Lady has taken her and will be her mother now, now that I cannot be," Katherine's accented English broke into his reverie and he felt her put her hand on his arm. He nodded.

"Yes, Cata. Of course she is. And God will love her just as much as we ever did. He'll take better care of her than we ever could have done."

"And we never need to stop loving her. We can keep her in our prayers, just as we do the rest of our families who have gone to their rest."

"Of course we can. She'll always be our firstborn, our little Tudor Rosebud. Always," he promised, sliding his arm around his wife's waist and holding her as she crossed herself silently before turning her from the grave. The courtiers, a sea of black and ash grey on this, the first Ash Wednesday since their little Princess had died, parted before them to allow them to reach the chapel door. Upon reaching it, Henry turned.

"Farewell, my Princess. May God Bless you, now and evermore," he whispered, blowing his child a tender kiss, before he took Katherine's arm once more and, laying aside the persona of a grieving father and taking up that of a regal King, stepped out to meet England and his duties.

Where, while that severed doth remain,**  
><strong>This grave partakes the fleshly birth;**  
><strong>Which cover lightly, gentle earth!


	76. Big Big Girl

_A/N: A songfic for Princess Mary by Lady Eleanor Boleyn, to Big Big Girl by Emilia. Please review!]_

I'm a big big girl**  
><strong>In a big big world

It's not a big big thing if you leave me

But I do do feel that

I do do will miss you much

Miss you much...

Hoof beats on the cobbles beneath the balcony leading from her tiny room broke into Mary's prayers. This was it. If she didn't go now, she'd not see him. Not see her father. Her father.

_"He doesn't want you, Mary. He doesn't want you, remember? You heard him with Elizabeth. She's his rose now, not you. According to him, she's the one who will rule over Empires, not you. Do you really want to see him?"_

A little voice started up in her head, trying to keep her in the room, trying to keep her true to herself; to the way her mother had taught her to act, as a regal Princess, rather than a girl desperate for her father's love.

But Mary wasn't just her mother's daughter. She was her father's daughter too. She was a Tudor and the Tudors couldn't live without feeling loved. Unable to help herself, she sprang up from where she was kneeling by her bed and rushed outside. Her father was just mounting up.

"Turn round, please! Papa, please!" Mary begged him, the words slipping from her lips before she could stop them. Luckily, they came out too quietly to ever have a hope of reaching his ears. She hadn't broken her promise to her mother after all. She hadn't let her father see how weak he'd made her.

But then he turned round. He turned round and looked straight up at her. Their eyes met for the first time since he'd banished her from Court all those years ago.

Mary saw something flicker in his eyes and held her breath. Would he? Would he come back into the Palace and call her to him? Spend time with her the way he had just spent time with little Elizabeth?

No. Instead, he merely swept out an arm and inclined his head to her, bowing to her as he might to any other lady of high rank he was dancing with. Mary watched him go down into the bow and automatically curtsied back. As she did so, she felt a frisson of ice cold air swirl around her so that she couldn't suppress a shiver. A leaf, pale yellow like the winter sun she was standing under, drifted into her field of vision.

I can see the first leaf falling

It's all yellow and nice

It's so very cold outside

Like the way I'm feeling inside

I'm a big big girl

In a big big world

It's not a big big thing if you leave me

But I do do feel that

I do do will miss you much

Miss you much...

Half-watching it, half-watching her father as he touched his heels to his horse's sides and cantered away, Mary suddenly remembered the first time her father had ridden away from her like this. But everything had been different then. Everything.

_She had been ten years old and the darling Pearl of her father's world. She'd just been given her own household at Ludlow in the Welsh Marches, as befitted the Princess of Wales. Her parents had taken her on progress with them and then left her at Ludlow. Her mother had kissed her, told her she loved her and to be good for Lady Salisbury before Papa had encouraged her to go and wait in the carriage. She had obeyed him, and the two of them had been left alone in the room._

_Ignoring Protocol, she had flung herself at him, sobbing wildly, "Don't leave me, Papa, please! Can't I come back to London with you? I'll be good, I'll work really hard; do everything Lady Salisbury and Señor Vives tell me! Honestly! Just let me come back, please!"_

_He had wrapped her in his arms and knelt down to her height, "I know you will, my pearl. I know you'd do that wherever you were. But I need you to stay here."_

_"Why? Why can't I come back with you?"_

_"Because you're not a little girl anymore. You're nearly a woman now, Mary."_

_"But I don't want to be! I want to be your little girl!"_

_"Oh, you'll always be my little girl. That won't change, I promise. But you're old enough now to help me."_

_"Help you?" Surprised to hear her Papa, her wonderful, brave, omnipotent Papa asking for her help, Mary stopped crying and looked at him with wide eyes. He chuckled and chucked her lightly under the chin, "That's better. Yes, I need your help. You see, I need to be in London a lot of the time, but England's a lot bigger than just London and sometimes people London outside get a bit upset because they can't see me. That's why we go on Progress in the summer, so people outside London can see me. But I still can't be everywhere at once, so I'm hoping that if you stay here in Wales, the Welsh will be happier because they can see their Princess. Will you do that for me, Mary? Will you stay here and help me keep the Welsh happy? Please?"_

_"Of course, Papa!" Mary assured him, proud that he now thought of her as old enough to help him and determined to prove him right. Pulling away from his hold, she drew herself up, "You can count on me, Papa."_

_"I know I can, my pearl. Now, dry those tears and come and wave me off from the balcony, hmm?"_

_Fresh tears welled up in Mary as her father prepared to leave her, but remembering what he had just said about her being old enough to help him, she choked them back and nodded, mustering a smile as he left the room._

_She hurried out to the balcony and, when he, having seen her mother settled and mounted up himself, glanced up, she was already prepared, offering him the widest, bravest smile she could manage as she raised a hand in a courteous farewell._

_"Good girl," he mouthed up at her, "I'm proud of you, darling." Then he kicked his horse away and was gone._

Outside it's now raining

And tears are falling from my eyes

Why did it have to happen

Why did it all have to end

I'm a big big girl

In a big big world

It's not a big big thing if you leave me

But I do do feel that

I do do will miss you much

Miss you much...

Mary's vision blurred and she had to duck back into her room and bury her head in her eiderdown so as not to risk anyone seeing her cry. She couldn't act this way! She was a Princess of England and a woman of marriageable age besides. Tears were for a child of little Elizabeth's age, not her! Surely, she, who had been the girl who never cried in childhood, could control herself now!

_"Even if he hadn't put your mother aside, even if you were still a Princess, you'd be in France or Spain or Portugal by now. You'd be a Queen, a mother. You wouldn't be his little girl. So why are you crying over him leaving without saying goodbye?"_

The hateful voice had started up again, and Mary shook her head, trying to block it out. She knew the logic, had been through it a thousand times, but it didn't help. Everything was different. If she'd been a Queen, she would have had a household to run, a new country to become accustomed to, a husband to get to know. But without them; without that to distract her, all she could do was to bite her lip hard against the tears and try to keep anyone from noticing how she was feeling.

I have your arms around me ooooh like fire

But when I open my eyes

You're gone...

All of a sudden, Mary felt something she hadn't felt in ages. Her mother's arms came round her, embracing her. Mary scarcely dared to breathe, so scared she was hallucinating, but when she did inhale, she smelt the mixture of sandalwood and jasmine perfumes her mother had always favoured.

"Mama," she breathed.

"Yes, hija mia. I'm here. I'm here, Cielo."

Mary went to look round, but her mother's arms tightened around her in reprimand, "No, don't look, Maria. Just trust that I'm here. I'll always be here for you, no matter what. I may be physically a long way from you, but in thought, you are very close by. Remember that."

"Yes, Mama."

"And remember who you are. The daughter of Katherine of Aragon and King Henry VIII. The granddaughter of Isabella and Ferdinand and the Peacemaker King. No one can take that from you, no matter how much they might want to. No one. Not even your father's expensive whore. Understand?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Good girl. So don't fear them. You're a warrior, cielo. Just like your grandmother Isabella. Remind your father of that, but don't disobey him. Just remind him by refusing to give in. Our marriage was valid and you are the one and only true Princess of England. Hold on to that."

"I will, Mama."

"Good girl. I love you."

"I love you too, Mama."

Mary couldn't help herself. She pushed herself to her feet and glanced round, knowing it was impossible, but still somehow hoping that her mother had escaped captivity and come to find her; come to find her and sweep her away with her to Spain, away from her father's cruelty.

But the room was empty. Of course. It had never been anything else. She'd imagined her mother; created her out of memories and unfulfilled longings. She'd known it all along really. Yet, somehow, because the image had been so vivid, it was as bad as losing her mother all over again.

Mary collapsed as her heart broke all over again. Her regal demeanour shattered and a storm of tears possessed her, draining her dry.

It wasn't until years later, when she was back at Court and back in her father's favour that Mary found out, at exactly the same time as she had imagined her mother, her mother had had a vision of her. That her mother had died with a smile on her face and Mary's own name on her lips.

I'm a big big girl

In a big big world

It's not a big big thing if you leave me

But I do do feel thatI do do will miss you much

Miss you much...I'm a big big girl

In a big big world

It's not a big big thing if you leave me

But I do feel I will miss you much


	77. Another Love

**A/N: Hi, GreenField here – I can't believe how long it's been since I wrote one of these! Sorry and all. Pairing is Anne of Cleves/Thomas Cromwell (a pairing that is impossible date-wise, but I still like it) to Tom Odell's amazing 'Another Love'. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.**

_I want to take you somewhere so you know I care,__  
><em>_But it's so cold and I don't know where.__  
><em>_I brought you daffodils, in a pretty string,__  
><em>_But they won't flower like they did last spring._

Cromwell has not seen Anne of Cleves since her divorce from the King. She has been relocated to Hever Castle, a beautiful structure of golden brick that had once belonged to Anne Boleyn. He has been almost frightened to visit her there – will the ghost of the first Anne dance around him, will she haunt him, wreak her revenge? He might almost understand if she did. She had not deserved her fate – but then, who did deserve their fate in this life? His Elizabeth had not deserved to die, either, yet she was gone, lost to the ground beneath his feet where her body lay buried.

If he is honest with himself – a tactic he often avoids – Cromwell would probably admit that the real reason he has not been to visit Anne sooner, despite his promise, is because of Elizabeth, not the lingering ghost of Henry's second Queen. He feels strongly about Anne, deeply protective of her – he dreams of her often, and often thinks that maybe – perhaps – his feelings are too deep to now be ignored.

This suspicion is what leads to him standing at the entryway to Hever castle, too scared to advance those few last, precious steps. Anne wrote to him, recently, sending a letter by the care of a secret messenger, asking why he has not come to see her. Asking if he has forsaken her, after what had passed between them.

They had been walking in the gardens at Hampton Court, just after Anne had agreed to the divorce, and Cromwell was in grave danger of losing his head. They sought comfort from each other – just through words, at first, of course; but the friendship between the Chancellor and the King's 'sister' was soon being whispered about, and rightly so. There is very rarely smoke without fire, and in this case, the fire was in Anne's lips the day that Cromwell kissed her in the rose garden, wondering why on earth Henry had forsaken such a beautiful, witty woman whose smile lit up the sky above them. The fire was within him when they fell onto the grass and pulled at each other's clothing with a hunger that neither of them had experienced for a long time – and the fire died when Cromwell pulled away and told Anne that he could go no further, that he could not damage her so, that he would not stain her honour.

She had not spoken to him for several days after the incident. Cromwell recalled something about his Elizabeth – the real reason he had gone no further with Anne. The guilt, the sense that he was betraying his wife despite her having been dead for over a decade, had prevented him from consummating his relationship with Anne, despite his strengthening emotions. Then he recalled the day he and Elizabeth had been walking by the River Thames, the way she had exclaimed over the brightly coloured daffodils – their yellow glow, she claimed, made her happier than anything else on earth, no matter what her worries were. So a week after their heated encounter in the rose garden, Cromwell presented Anne with a small posy of hand-picked daffodils, their golden heads reared high in greeting, tied with a pretty green ribbon. To his surprise, Anne had been delighted by the flowers; but her happiness had caused the guilt to rise in him again. He could not forget Elizabeth, no matter how hard he tried. And, although he was sure it was just a foolish imagining, he could have sworn that the golden colour of the flowers faded a little when Anne took hold of the simple bouquet.

_And I want to kiss you, make you feel alright,__  
><em>_But I'm just so tired to share my nights__  
><em>_I want to cry and I want to love but all my tears have been used up._

He shakes his head, tries to forget the daffodils, to forget Elizabeth, but she and Anne are so very similar! How can he forget his first love, his wife, the other half of his soul, when her replacement only succeeds in reminding him of her predecessor at every turn?!

"Thomas!"

Anne's head hangs out of one of the windows on the upper floors; his heart beats a little faster at the sight of her dainty face, suffused with joy. He sees within her the beauty that the painter Holbein had seen, the subtle, natural beauty that the bullish King had not seen. Her dark golden hair hangs loose – she is clearly not expecting visitors – and what little he can see of her gown seems rough and homespun.

He forces a smile, waves in welcome, and she disappears suddenly from the window. Anne has none of the airs and graces of a courtier, none of the haughty distance of English women. She is natural, impulsive, excitable, and freer with her emotions than anyone he has ever met before.

She comes running, her feet sending pebbles from the pathway flying in every direction. One hits him hard on the shin. She halts just before him, beaming, beautiful, her face tilted up to his. She is angled in such a way that it would be so easy for him to kiss her, almost a natural instinct, an innate movement. He does want to kiss her, he wants to kiss her badly, but everytime she is this close to him he sees only Elizabeth's face in his mind; Elizabeth's rosy cheeks, Elizabeth's slightly parted lips, Elizabeth's eyes that simply dared him to just kiss her already. To kiss Anne was to kiss a ghost.

Several moments pass, neither of them moving. The smile on Anne's face slips.

"Thomas?"

He doesn't say anything – how can he begin to explain that when he looks at her, he sees someone else? How does he explain that he has no love left to give?

"Are you not going to kiss me? Like before?" she sounds hurt, like a child, even a little naive.

"I – I cannot"

_On another love, another love,__  
><em>_All my tears have been used up,__  
><em>_On another love, another love,__  
><em>_All my tears have been used up,__  
><em>_On another love another love,__  
><em>_All my tears have been used up._

Her smile becomes a frown; she looks impossibly hurt now, as if he has physically injured her.

"Explain"

A demand that she has made of him many times before, usually when faced with traditional English customs that she does not understand. Never before has she asked him to explain himself, his feelings.

"May we not have a seat?"

Her eyes pierce him. He once thought that they were simply a muddy brown, but he now knows that when she is angry they are the most brilliant emerald green.

"The rose garden is lovely at this time of year" she states coolly, a hint of resentment in her tone. She lies, too – it is winter, the roses are covered in a thin layer of frost, spider webs of ice stretching from stem to stem. She just wants to make him suffer. Cromwell understands. In her position, he would want to make this difficult, too.

She sits down on a stone bench, smoothing out her grey woollen skirt, "You told me that you loved me"

He flinches, startled, "Did I?"

She gives him a withering look, but he sees behind that to the dampness in her eyes, "When you had your hand up my skirts, yes, you told me you loved me. Or is that something all men say, when in that position?"

It probably is, he thinks, but he feels that it might not be a prudent time to agree.

"Anne..." he begins; every word is torture, they will hurt her, each word will sting like a slap, "Anne, I owe you the deepest of apologies"

She looks cold; he wants to hold her, "I suspect that you do, Thomas"

"I cannot love you" he blurts it out – to her credit, she does not flinch – "I cannot love you, because I have no love left in me. I cannot love you truly because I am in love with a woman lost to me. I cannot love you because I see in you the ghost of her. And I cannot weep for her anymore"

_And if somebody hurts you, I want to fight,__  
><em>_But my hand's been broken one too many times.__  
><em>_So I use my voice, I'll be so damn rude.__  
><em>_Words they always win, but I know I'll lose.__  
><em>_And I'll sing a song, that'll be just ours,__  
><em>_But I sang along to another heart.__  
><em>_And I want to cry I want to learn to love,__  
><em>_But all my tears have been used up._

Anne has stiffened, tensed – he tries to touch her, take her ice-cold hand, but she pulls it away and tucks it inside her ermine muff instead. A tear trickles down her cheek and she swipes it away, angry at her body for making her seem weak.

"You have always acted as though you love me"

"That is because I want to love you, I do, desperately, but you remind me so much of – of her. My wife. Elizabeth"

"Your wife has been dead for years"

"You don't stop loving someone simply because they no longer exist"

"Perhaps not, but you ought to be able to move on"

"It's harder than it sounds"

"After a decade I should think it would become much simpler"

They fall silent for a few moments. When he chances another glance at Anne, her face is set like stone and damp from tears that she desperately does not want to shed.

"You always acted like a lover"

"In what sense? Anne, I never took advantage of you – "

"Do you remember when the King called me a Flanders' mare? In front of you?"

Cromwell's fists clenched at the memory, "Vividly"

"I thought that you might hit him there and then, the King of England! Your face, it was mottled red with rage, and your fists were balled up, so hard that the knuckles went white...no-one had ever defended me over my beauty before" her eyes met his and she stated, almost conversationally, "That was when I fell for you"

He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

"You used your words instead, you're very good with words. Something about it being diplomatically disastrous to insult me within my hearing, not to mention extremely unchivalrous. He didn't like that much, but he listened to you. He listens very closely to you"

"When he wishes to" Cromwell cuts in, the merest hint of humour. Anne does not smile.

"And you ordered that page to sing for me. _The Holly and the Ivy_, he sang, do you remember? At Christmastide. I was lonely and you could tell I felt quite uncomfortable being around the King and that Howard gi – the Queen. You told me of this romantic English song, often sung at Christmastide, and seemed quite scandalised that I had not heard it yet. So you got that page to sing it for me – though of course, I knew, that it was you singing for me. Really" she hesitates, "Wasn't it?"

"Yes" he admits in a low voice, "It was. Anne, I...I am so deeply sorry"

"I, too. My feelings for you are clear, unfortunately, beyond denial or pretence. And I am angry with you for denying me. And I love you"

She seems not to have wanted to say that last sentence; her cheeks colour, a woman usually so difficult to embarrass.

"I had another love, once, Anne; a love who meant the world to me. And I wish that I could forget her and love you with my whole heart. Because I do love you – yes, Anne, don't look so shocked! – I just do not love you enough. And I think it is time you stopped being second to everyone else in this world"

Anne rose slowly from the stone bench, tears standing out on the end of her eyelashes. She leant down to him, and kissed him lightly on the forehead, the kiss of a sister or an unloving wife. A goodbye.

"Perhaps, then, I shall have to settle for being your sister too" she murmured, soft as the breeze against his skin – and she was gone, gone like Elizabeth before her, like the last Anne who had temporarily enchanted him, gone.

All he had left, now, was his other love. His ghost.

_On another love, another love,__  
><em>_All my tears have been used up,__  
><em>_On another love, another love,__  
><em>_All my tears have been used up,__  
><em>_On another love, another love,__  
><em>_All my tears have been used up._


	78. Faerie Queen

_A/N: Lady Eleanor Boleyn's been dying to do another Blackmore's Night one since she saw them in Concert in July, but never got around to it until now. Princess Mary/baby Elizabeth sister bonding to Fairie Queen. Enjoy!_

Over on the hill**  
><strong>There grows a flower**  
><strong>Growing quicker still**  
><strong>More perfect by the hour**  
><strong>Deep within that flower**  
><strong>Is a tiny chair**  
><strong>All a-fringed with gold**  
><strong>The fairy queen sits there…

The cradle was large, ornate, made of gilded wood. In it lay England's newest royal child, the Princess Elizabeth. Her large dark eyes were open and she gazed serenely about the room, taking in her surroundings peaceably enough. She was content, content in the knowledge that, the moment she cried, she would be picked up and fussed over until she was happy again. All the faces that wove in and out of her consciousness above her cradle smiled down on her, doting upon her as she grew, grew stronger and healthier and more alert – more perfect – with every passing day.

Yes, Elizabeth, was happy. The most happy. Happy to be Queen of the nursery at Hatfield.

Yet, just now, there was no one doting upon her. Just now, the room around her was empty, for she was supposed to be napping. But she didn't feel like napping. Oh, she was tired, yes, but she wanted to be held. Held and rocked to sleep, instead of being left to doze off by herself in a quiet, darkened side part of the nursery.

Opening her mouth, she began to wail in protest.

It is in her breath**  
><strong>That the wind does blow**  
><strong>It is in her heart**  
><strong>As pure as winter snow**  
><strong>It is in her tears**  
><strong>Crystal raindrops fall**  
><strong>And within her years**  
><strong>That she is in us all…

Lady Mary was tidying away the Princess's newly-washed and mended linens in the opposite corner of the room when Elizabeth suddenly started crying. Alarmed, she looked up, hoping against hope that no one would blame her for waking the Princess. When no one came running to scold her, she turned back to her task, hoping the child would soon settle herself. She wanted nothing to do with Anne Boleyn's bastard brat. Let one of the other girls, who knew no better than to fawn over anyone the King chose to honour, see to her.

Yet, as Elizabeth continued crying and no one seemed to hear, Mary's patience wore thin. It seemed she would have to do something after all. Taking a deep breath to settle her nerves as much as to steel herself for what she was about to do, Mary laid aside her bundle of linens and walked over to the cradle.

She reached in and picked the child up, automatically breaking out into a soft lullaby; the same lullaby her mother and governess had almost always sung to her when she was little and in distress.

"_Oh, Western wind, when wilt thou blow?__  
><em>_The small rain down can rain."_

Elizabeth wailed once or twice more, as if to voice her displeasure at having been neglected for so long, but that was before her eyes flickered open. As soon as her eyes flickered open, they bore into Mary's, connecting with her so immediately that the entire atmosphere in the room seemed to shift. With a single moment, Mary's heart melted and she began to love her little sister.

Oh dark eyes**  
><strong>Help me see**  
><strong>Just one look**  
><strong>She is gone**  
><strong>Look on me**  
><strong>We are one**  
><strong>Fading with the setting sun…

Elizabeth sensed the shift in the room; the shift from strained tension to loving acceptance. Happy at last, she let her sobs reduce to sniffles and then cease altogether. She kicked gently in the older girl's arms, urging her to carry on rocking her and then let exhaustion take her. She drifted off to sleep, her small eyes falling shut as the song filled the whorls of her tiny ears. The last thing she carried with her was the sight of a pair of sapphire eyes gazing down at her with such love she was sure it would last forever.

Mary felt the child in her arms grow ever heavier as she was borne off on the curtain of sleep. She knew she should put her down and get on with her other tasks, yet she couldn't quite bring herself to do so. Having finally opened her heart to her little sister, she wanted to hold on to her for just that little bit longer. It felt so lovely having a child in her arms. She'd always wanted a family larger than just her and her mother and father. She'd always wanted to marry, have children. Right now, with Elizabeth snoring gently in her arms and no one else in the room, she could almost believe that this baby girl, her little sister, was her own little girl instead of her sister. That she was married, with a family, and that her husband would walk in on her at any second.

"Lady Mary!" Lady Bryan's sharp voice broke into her daydream, startling both her and Elizabeth, who jolted awake, crying lustily. "What are you doing with the Princess Elizabeth? Give her to me!"

Mary did so, handing the howling child over to her governess, who did, she noted with some satisfaction, look slightly ashamed at having woken her sleeping charge.

"She had been left alone," she said with quiet dignity. "She wanted nothing more than to be held and sung to, yet she had been left alone."

With that, she walked away to return to her former, abandoned task, leaving Lady Bryan with the considerable task of having to soothe a fractious Elizabeth, all the while knowing that the Princess was no longer just Anne Boleyn's daughter. She was a true Tudor; Mary's true little sister.

And because of that, Mary knew, she would always adore her.

As the willow bows**  
><strong>To her majesty**  
><strong>All the forest flowers**  
><strong>Love her mystery**  
><strong>Who would not admire**  
><strong>Who does not adore**  
><strong>Who does not desire**  
><strong>Who wishes to see more?


	79. Medley

_A/N; Lady Eleanor Boleyn thought we'd try something a little new here: This is Elizabeth of York/Richard III in an AU storyline to a medley of Taylor Swift Lyrics. Enjoy!_

If you were here we'd laugh about their vacant stares**  
><strong>But right now my time is theirs

Queen Elizabeth strode down the halls of Sheen Palace, sensing her skirts rippling along the ground behind her. As she went, she bent her head courteously to listen to the petitions and pleas her bowing courtiers put before her. She listened to each and everyone, not daring to let her boredom show even slightly on her face. She couldn't afford to; not when her security at England's Court depended upon her being known as the beloved gentle Queen, who was interested in every single one of her subjects, no matter how humble.

It was a role she hated playing, but a necessary price to pay for being a Yorkist Queen in a Lancastrian Court. Her devotion to her new husband; to the father of her son, Arthur, and her daughter, Margaret, could not afford to be placed in even the slightest doubt; not with the Yorkist King, King Richard's body, still missing, even five years after the battle on Bosworth Field.

She couldn't give anyone the slightest reason to suspect that she might know what had happened to him; might know that he was actually in hiding in Burgundy; plotting to one day take back his rightful throne; or if not that, to help a Yorkist take it in Henry's stead.

She was used to the role by now, but that didn't mean she liked it. In fact, she loathed it; felt trapped by it. Which is why, when she reached her own apartments, the one place she could sometimes let her guard down and found an unfamiliar cloaked figure waiting for her, saying he was there to hear her confessions for the day, since her own chaplain had fallen ill, she barely managed to restrain a heaving sigh as she invited him into her chapel.

"Follow me, Sir, if you will. The rest of you may go."

The moment the doors closed behind them both, the stranger spoke.

"Don't you recognise your own uncle, Bessierose?"

I run my fingers through your hair and watch the lights go wild.**  
><strong>Just keep on keeping your eyes on me, it's just wrong enough to make it feel right.

"Richard, we mustn't! This is madness!" Elizabeth gasped, as he picked her up and bore her swiftly through the private door between her chapel and her bedchamber, bolting the heavy doors around them. She knew who he was now; had known from the moment he called her 'Bessierose'.

"Aye, it's madness," he agreed, "But can you deny it feels right?"

And she couldn't. Right there, wrapped in the security of his arms and the warmth of her swansdown covers, she couldn't deny that it felt right. Nothing mattered except them.

She forgot everything; everything about their being Uncle and niece; everything about the fact that their dispensation ceased being valid the moment Richard had lost the throne of England, for it was for marriage between King Richard and Princess Elizabeth, not Richard Plantagenet and Queen Elizabeth of England. She even forgot that she was an adulteress; a traitor to the Crown. She was naught but Bessie and he was naught but Dickon and they were naught but two people in love, doing what two people in love generally do.

"You're supposed to be in Burgundy," she choked out at last, when she had got enough breath back to speak at all, "If Henry knew you were here, he'd kill you."

"Yes, he would. But not seeing you was killing me. And we need a son. A Yorkist son to take the throne back from Lancaster. And I couldn't have trusted your sisters not to tell King Henry I was here. You're the only one I can trust, Bessierose. The only one. You won't let me down, will you?"

"No, Dickon," she shook her head, "I'd never let you down. Never!"

This slope is treacherous**  
><strong>This path is reckless**  
><strong>This slope is treacherous**  
><strong>And I, I, I like it

And she didn't. Nine months after that stolen afternoon, her second son, healthier by far than his older brother, was born. King Henry was delighted to have the Succession safeguarded by a second son and doubly so when his Queen insisted on naming the boy after him, rather than after one of her Yorkist relatives. And if the boy looked more like a Yorkist than him; more like his Grandfather King Edward IV, well, so did Princess Margaret. There was no reason why the lad shouldn't take after his mother.

From then on, Elizabeth lived a double life. By day, she was King Henry's devoted Queen, planning the future of England under Arthur with him. By night, however, she was plotting to have Arthur overthrown by his younger brother and have Henry mount the throne in his stead.

She insisted that Henry pay attention in more of his lessons than he might have liked or needed to, being a second son. She drove him to compete with Arthur and prove himself the better in whatever they did; trying to get the people of England to ache for the day Henry took the throne rather than Arthur.

In short, she groomed her second son for Kingship, for she was sure he'd be the one to take the throne, for wasn't that what Mother had promised when she cursed all those who had something to do with her brother's deaths to lose their first born sons? Henry was safe on all counts. Richard, had it been his fault, had lost his first son in Edward of Middleham, and had Henry had something to do with it, well, Henry wasn't his son at all, for all he was known as the Tudor Duke of York. Arthur, _her_firstborn, was and he would have to die anyway for Henry to take the throne.

It was true, sometimes Arthur's fate tugged at her heart. He was so innocent; so loving and so earnest to do the best he could, both by his family and by his country. It was a shame he, of all people, had to suffer for her sake.

But suffer he would have to. Or so Elizabeth thought.

In the end, however, nature decided to give her a helping hand, by striking Arthur down with the Sweat in the April of 1502, just six months after his marriage to the Spanish Princess Katherine.

Elizabeth had never been so relieved in her life. She joined in her Court's mourning wholeheartedly, for she truly did mourn the boy she had given life to, but at the same time, she was inwardly rejoicing that she hadn't been forced to actually take his life.

So happy was she that it was no hardship at all to extend her hand in friendship to the Dowager Princess Katherine; inviting her to stay at Court with her until her father organised another match for her.

Henry, on the other hand, had to marry and marry soon. To that end, she found it not a bit difficult to accept his father's suggestion that he marry the King of France's heir's sister, Marguerite.

This he did, the moment he turned fifteen, so that, by the time he mounted the throne two years later, he did so with a Queen at his side.

You held your head like a hero**  
><strong>On a history book page**  
><strong>It was the end of a decade**  
><strong>But the start of an age

"I've never been so proud in my life, Harry," Elizabeth told her son, as he sat on his great white charger, waiting to ride from the Tower to be crowned at Westminster, "Your father would be proud of you."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

With that, she blessed him and Marguerite together and let them ride away from her, already at Westminster in their minds.

"Yes, your Father would be proud of you, Harry," she whispered, "It's just a shame you don't know who he really is. Who you really are. It's just a shame you don't realise that this is the end of a Lancastrian age and the start of another Yorkist one."

With that, she went back to her rooms, to her chapel, to say her prayers. To say her prayers and lose herself in the memories of when, for a few short days and weeks, she had been King Richard's adored bride to be.

To lose herself in the memories and then to write to Richard, still in hiding in Burgundy to tell him that their time had come at last; that there was at last an unchallenged Yorkist King on the throne of England.


	80. King and Lionheart

**A/N: Hi, GreenField here! This is Richard III/Anne Neville to King and Lionheart by Of Monsters and Men.**

_Taking over this town, they should worry,  
>But these problems aside I think I taught you well.<br>That we won't run, and we won't run, and we won't run.  
>That we won't run, and we won't run, and we won't run.<em>

"They do not accept me, Anne"

Richard paces up and down their chamber; he removed his crown some time ago, but Anne fancies she can still see it atop his smooth black hair, weighing him down with all the pressures of the past and the murky future. The rebellions are growing more and more frequent; the only place they hold with any certainty is the North, the land they once called home. Anne longs for the simpler times, holed away at Middleham, cheered by the proud Northern people. On days like these, she suspects that Richard longs for such days too.

"The fire in their bellies will die out, Richard. You are the rightful King, no-one can question it, now that the Princes are gone –"

He rounds on her at once, "Why do you mention them? What do you know of it? Before God, Anne, if you know what happened to my nephews – _our_ nephews – "

"Of course not" she's taken aback by his reaction – but, then again, she knows how the disappearance of the boys has tortured him. She has heard his murmurings in his sleep, seen him wake from nightmares with his body drenched in sweat and his eyes wild and fevered, "I know as little as you know, Richard, but I simply meant...the boys, they seem to be gone. How can the people question your legitimacy as King, or our son's status as Prince of Wales, if the boys have disappeared?"

"That is precisely why they question me! Everyone thinks that either those boys are still alive, ready for them to rally around; or they believe that I poisoned them. Either way, they reject me in favour of two _children_!"

His anger abates as suddenly as it came, just as always; his shoulders slump, and he sinks down onto the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Anne moves to sit behind him, gently massaging his temples with the tips of her fingers. His frequent headaches worry her, even more so than the pains in his arm and back. She wonders if the headaches and his changes in temper are linked; of course, she dare not address this concern with him. He has enough to fear.

_And in the winter night sky ships are sailing,  
>Looking down on these bright blue city lights.<br>And they won't wait, and they won't wait, and they won't wait.  
>We're here to stay, we're here to stay, we're here to stay.<em>

"What if other countries get involved, Anne?" he moans softly, "France or Spain or Italy, even the low countries – any of them could rise up in rebellion against me and support the Princes. Or, as the Princes cannot be found, support the Tudor"

The Tudor – yet another threat they never talk about. Henry Tudor is in Brittany at this very moment, making allies, building up his armies. They do not know this for certain, of course, but Anne suspects it, namely because of the air of smug serenity surrounding Margaret Beaufort, the boy's mother, in the past weeks. She still has not addressed this with Richard. But she agrees with him – any moment now, France might decide to support the Tudor's cause, and then, what hope would they have? Richard had never fully tried to extend the diplomatic hand of friendship to Spain or the Low Countries, though their relationship with the Papal see in Italy seems strong. But Anne still has her doubts.

"The people will not accept the Tudor, my love. He is a foreigner to them, and he knows nothing of England – most of his life has been spent in Wales, or in Brittany. England means nothing to him, and all to you"

"The people cannot see that"

"The North see it"

"Yes, the North, always the North. My only allies in this war"

"And me, Richard. And our son"

"Yes" the thought does not make him smile, as it usually would, "Yes, and you, and our son"

There are a few moments of silence. Anne's fingertips still move slowly and tenderly over her husband's temples, considerate and loving to the last. Richard remains completely still.

"You know, Anne...if I knew that the Princes were alive, if I knew that their mother would let me act as Lord Protector until young Edward reaches his majority...if I knew that that could work, I would hand my crown and my throne to the lad without a moment's thought"

"Richard!" Anne is scandalised; she moves away from him, "Do not say such things! We are not weak, Richard, you and I. All that we have suffered – my sister, your brothers, all those bloody battles – they have made us strong. And you and I do not run away. We stay and perform our duty to our crowns and our country"

_Howling ghosts they reappear  
>In mountains that are stacked with fear<br>But you're a king and I'm a lionheart.  
>A lionheart.<em>

_His crown lit up the way as we moved slowly  
>Pass the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind.<br>Though far away, though far away, though far away  
>We're still the same, we're still the same, we're still the same.<em>

Anne's speech, her fierce determination, makes Richard stronger. He ignores the laughing, excitable ghosts of his nephews, who dance around him in torment every time he closes his eyes. He ignores the pale, silently reproachful ghost of Henry VI, the disappointment of his brother Edward, the anger of his brother George. The ghosts come to him whenever he sleeps, so he does not sleep. Instead, he tries to be clever. Tries to outwit his enemies. Tries to be calm.

One of his first moves is to invite his nieces to court. Anne rails against it, she doesn't like Elizabeth Woodville's girls, but he insists. Extending the hand of friendship may help Elizabeth to believe that he did not kill her sons, that he had no intention of harming them. And it may get Elizabeth on his side, stop her plotting with that mad Beaufort woman to marry their two children.

What he doesn't realise is that Elizabeth Woodville has a plan of her own.

Anne sees it instantly, and it frightens her far more than any rebellion ever could. She sees Elizabeth's Woodville's plan in the eyes of her young and beautiful daughter. Elizabeth of York is the image of her youthful father; golden haired, with large brown eyes that seem to express innocent amazement at every turn. Her body is smooth and young and appealingly rounded, and she has an aura of gentility and kindness about her that Anne cannot hope to best.

And Richard falls for the bait. Not, perhaps, as hard as some of the court believe – Anne is certain that he has never lay with his beautiful niece; she has her spies, after all. But perhaps he may have given her tokens, walked arm in arm with her in the gardens, consulted her in matters of policy, bought her new gowns. Slowly, it appears to the court as though she is taking Anne's place. And, although she feared such a thing would happen, at first, Anne knows it is not true. He is taken with Elizabeth, yes, but only because she reminds him of his brother, because he never had a daughter of his own to spoil. He almost adopts Elizabeth, taking an interest in her life because she has no other father figure to do so.

Even if maybe she is blind to any other view of their close relationship, Anne believes her own view wholeheartedly. Because she is Richard's lionheart, and she must stand by him, or let him fail.

Failure is not an option for the daughter of Warwick the Kingmaker.

_Howling ghosts they reappear  
>In mountains that are stacked with fear<br>But you're a king and I'm a lionheart.  
>And in the sea that's painted black,<br>Creatures lurk below the deck  
>But you're the king and I'm a lionheart.<em>

_And as the world comes to an end  
>I'll be here to hold your hand<br>'Cause you're my king and I'm your lionheart.  
>A lionheart. <em>

Richard wants to give up everything. He wants to give up his crown, his throne, his good name. Nothing matters to him anymore. He had his doubts before, but now, now...

Now Anne is dead.

And he is just a King, with no heart to drive him onwards. No force to motivate him. No joy or wisdom or cunning left. Just a King without a wife.

Without an heir.

Without a friend in the world.

Experimentally, he removes the crown from his head. He fancies he can almost see his dead wife rise before him, her face a mask of fury as it was every time he talked about giving up the crown. But his heart feels so much lighter without the heavy burden of Kingship. Removing his regalia has given him freedom, and comfort. And as much as he knows Anne would insist that he keep fighting, all the fight has left him.

What man can fight without a heart?

_Howling ghosts they reappear  
>In mountains that are stacked with fear<br>But you're a king and I'm a lionheart.  
>And in the sea that's painted black,<br>Creatures lurk below the deck  
>But you're a king and I'm a lionheart.<br>A lionheart. _


	81. Angels

**A/N: A brilliant offering from Lady Eleanor Boleyn – George Boleyn/Eleanor Boleyn (her awesome OC) to Angels by Sarah McLachlan. Please review!**

_Spend all your time waiting__  
><em>_For that second chance,__  
><em>_For a break that would make it okay.__There's always some reason__  
><em>_To feel not good enough,__  
><em>_And it's hard, at the end of the day_.

"I can't do this. George, I can't do it!" I was in floods, choking on my own sobs as my older brother rocked me back and forth in his arms.

"Do what?"

"Be Henry's wife! He doesn't love me, I don't love him!"

"Hush, you mustn't say that. He's your husband. He'll be Duke of Suffolk one day. Anne's secured you the most glittering match she could. Our sister, the Queen, has secured you the most glittering match she could. You'll be Duchess of Suffolk, aunt to King Robert of England, godmother to Princess Anne, the future Queen of Scotland. You'll be the second most powerful woman in England. What more could you want?"

"You! I want you, George. I've only ever wanted you."

There, the words, the damning, poisonous words, were out at last. There was no taking them back now. I, Lady Eleanor Rochford, Countess of Lincoln, the 17year old sister to King Henry's Queen of three years, Anne Boleyn, was in love with her own brother.

"Why can't you be my husband rather than my brother?" I sobbed, letting the memories seep over me as I wept in his arms. The first time we had danced together after Anne became Queen. The masque after her coronation. The first time he, George, had kissed me.

_I need some distraction,__  
><em>_Oh, beautiful release.__  
><em>_Memories seep from my veins._

I was on the top of the castle, beside my sister, the Queen of Honour and Beauty. I played her handmaiden, the Princess of Truth and Virtue. We were being held captive by the Vices and their leader, the Sorceress of Evil, Santana. Suddenly, to a blare of trumpets, the knights stormed the castle and two of them scaled the painted wooden walls to where Anne and I were standing.

The taller of the two held out his hand to Anne, saying "My Queen, allow me to free you from this terrible place."

The other held out his hand to me, "Princess, you are my captive now."

I was fourteen then, fourteen and drunk on my family's new-found power. I was in love with the world that night, and more than happy to fall in love with any handsome man I laid eyes on.

Laughing, I gave him my hand, "With pleasure, Sir Fidelity."

We danced that night, danced more than we ever had before. I twirled in my partner's arms, wondering who it could be whose arms felt so familiar, and so right around my waist. At the end of the first dance, he made to kiss my hand and leave me, but I reached out, tipped his chin up and let our lips meet. We kissed, not chastely, but with all the passion of the night; the night of the new Queen's coronation.

As luck would have it, we were dancing together again when the cry came to unmask.

I tore mine off; my partner did the same, and I found myself staring into eyes that were an exact dozen shades darker than mine, the eyes that were the twin of my older sister's; the eyes that had comforted me time and time again throughout childhood.

George's eyes.

The whole room around us gasped, he staggered backwards in shock, I flushed and fled; fled the whispers that were already breaking out all around us.

But even physical distance couldn't check the way I felt that night. If anything, it only made my emotions stronger.

_Let me be empty,__  
><em>_Oh, and weightless, and maybe__  
><em>_I'll find some peace tonight.__In the arms of the angel,__  
><em>_Fly away from here,__  
><em>_From this dark, cold hotel room,__  
><em>_And the endlessness that you fear.__  
><em>_You are pulled from the wreckage,__  
><em>_Of your silent reverie.__  
><em>_You're in the arms of the angel,__  
><em>_May you find some comfort here._

"Nora, we can't," George knew what I was thinking; he always knew, "We can't. If we were found out, it would be death for the both of us. Even Anne couldn't save us."

I knew his words were the voice of caution, but I was past caution. I gripped him like a vice, eyes burning.

"I don't care, George. I don't care! Three years I've been Henry's wife. Three years I've tried to make our marriage work, tried to prove that I am a worthy Countess of Lincoln; a worthy future Duchess of Suffolk. But no, he has to deny me my rights. He shares a bed with me only on odd occasions when he wants to prove he can; to see if he can get an heir off me. The rest of the time, he's always got that Irish harlot on his arm. The one he calls kissed by fire because of her red hair."

"Lady Honour Fitzgerald."

"Honour! Dishonour would suit her better!" I snorted. "He thinks she'd be a better wife for him because she's got older ancestry. He resents Anne's meddling, claims he could have been betrothed to Lady Fitzgerald had it not been for her attempts to secure her favourite sister a glittering match. Has he forgotten he only owes his title to his father's friendship with the King? The title's only a decade older than Anne's marriage to the King – than our marriage! Why am I any worse than he is?"

"Because you haven't given him an heir," George answered, his voice heavy.

"And how am I meant to do that if he shuns me and retreats into Miss Dishonour's arms?"

"Why are you being like this, Nora? You were always the sweet one; the one who always reminded Anne that jealousy wouldn't work. Can't you follow your own advice?" My brother looked stunned, stunned that his sweet little sister had changed so much. But I had changed. The last six years had changed us all. I had changed and I was desperate.

"Not without a son. Not without a son to secure the Brandon line."

"And how are we meant to get you one of those?"

"You know, George. You know what I want, what I've always wanted. Please! Please!"

Blue into Brown. Horrified shock into pleading desperation. Anger and pent up frustration into ever-weakening resolve and then finally, acceptance.

"Just once then. Just to get you with child."

_So tired of the straight line,__  
><em>_And everywhere you turn,__  
><em>_There's vultures and thieves at your back_.

But it never was just the once. I knew it wouldn't be. I had never meant for it to be just the once. I was a Boleyn and the Boleyns got whatever they wanted. I was to be no different.

And before long, George didn't want it to be just the once either. He might have known about the tricks Anne had used to enrapture King Henry, but knowing about them didn't make him any the less susceptible to them.

Before long, the only woman he could think about was me. Just as he was the only man I could think about.

I saw it in the hunger in his eyes across the dinner table in our family apartments; in the tightness of his grip as we danced, in the way his bedding of me shifted from being furtive and functional to hungry, passionate and possessive.

"I'm so tired," he admitted to me once. "Tired of seeing Anne be the only Boleyn that shines, tired of knowing I only rise because my sister is mother to the Prince of Wales. I want to be known as George Boleyn, not Anne Boleyn's brother."

"You are George Boleyn. You are to me," I promised him, rolling over so that I was on top of him, staring down into his deep dark eyes, "I would never think of you simply as Anne's brother. Or mine, for that matter. You are more than a brother to me. You always will be more than a brother."

"Truly?" He sounded surprisingly insecure and I leaned down and kissed him hungrily.

"Truly, brother. You'd better be. Or am I supposed to let this child grow up thinking Henry Brandon is its true father? Never knowing its Uncle George?"

He stared at me, mouth gaping open. I smiled.

"Well done, George. You're going to be a father."

_The storm keeps on twisting.__  
><em>_Keep on building the lies__  
><em>_That you make up for all that you lack.__  
><em>

Had we stopped there, we might have got away with it. After all, my son, named Charles after his supposed grandfather, had hair no darker than you might have expected for someone whose aunt and uncle were both almost raven-black in hair colour. And I wasn't utterly stupid. I did still welcome Henry into my bed on the rare occasions he decided he wanted to share it with me. He could still theoretically have been my son's father. But then the summer came. The golden Boleyn summer, the summer when Anne's son turned three and was sent away to Ludlow, when she rode triumphantly at the head of the progress with the King, showing off yet another gently swelling belly; the summer when I thought no one would be watching me because everyone was watching her. When I thought I could get away with having George in my bed just that bit more often than before.

_It don't make no difference,_

One mistake was all it took. One mistake, one momentary lapse of judgement and my world came crashing down around me.

We were lying in bed, deliciously entwined, when there were hoof beats in the yard below. George froze, made to get up, but I stretched and pulled him back into me, "Leave it," I murmured carelessly, "It won't be Henry. He's not due back from Edinburgh for ages."

"Oh I don't know. Diplomatic work is notoriously fickle with the length of time it takes," George whispered. Nevertheless, he didn't attempt to untangle himself again.

Not until Henry, hungry, tired and determined to take his frustrations at the futility of the peace treaty negotiations out on me, came storming through my bedroom door. And by then, it was too late. There was no hiding it.

_Escape one last time.__  
><em>_It's easier to believe in this sweet madness,__  
><em>_Oh, this glorious sadness,__  
><em>_That brings me to my knees._

"Why, Nora? Why?"

That was the only thing Anne asked me when she visited me in the Tower, my fifteen month old son nestled close in her arms. I looked at her, then at him, then back at her.

"Because I had to," I said simply, "I had to have him."

"Had to have him? Had to have him so badly that you would risk everything? Everything we'd worked for, everything I'd given you, secured for you, just for a few nights in his arms?"

"More than a few," I chuckled, "Almost two years George and I have been doing this. Almost two years."

"Two years? Two years? And no one knew?" Anne almost dropped little Charlie in her shock. I met her eye coolly, "I am a Boleyn, sister. I can keep a secret, you know."

There was a heartbeat of silence. Anne reached out a hand to me, "I can't save you, you know. Either of you."

"I don't want you to."

"Nora!" Anne gasped. "Are you mad? Do you care nothing for this family? For your son? Could you not have tried to make your marriage work? For Charlie's sake, if not for mine. He's a bastard now, a bastard that none of us can have anything to do with once you're dead. Do you understand that? Do you understand what you've done? You and George? You've ruined everything!"

"Not quite everything," I rejoined, "You've still got the King's love. You're still Queen. Your son Robert made sure of that. His Majesty knows you had nothing to do with any of this. And Henry's happier now anyway. He can marry that Irish harlot of his and no one will ever be any the wiser that their child was conceived out of wedlock, just as much as Charlie was."

I paused for a moment, touched my son's soft, rosy cheek, "I am sorry for him. He didn't ask for this. But that doesn't mean I'd change anything."

"None of it?" Anne's voice was heavy.

"Not a single second of it."

Anne sighed, "I don't know why they call me the stubborn one."

She shifted Charlie in her arms, then leaned in to kiss me on the forehead, as she had done countless times before, "May God have mercy on you both."

She turned for the door, but I called her back.

"Anne?"

"Yes?"

"Will you do me one last favour?"

"What?"

"Can I spend the night with George tonight?"

Anne stiffened.

"Please," I begged, "What difference will it make now? What's done is done. At least let us spend one last night together."

She didn't say anything, didn't even turn around, but in the last second before the door swung shut behind her, I saw her nod, ever so slightly.

_In the arms of the angel,__  
><em>_Fly away from here,__  
><em>_From this dark, cold hotel room,__  
><em>_And the endlessness that you fear.__  
><em>_You are pulled from the wreckage,__  
><em>_Of your silent reverie.__  
><em>_You're in the arms of the angel,__  
><em>_May you find some comfort here._

And so George and I were together, whispering words of comfort, when they came to take us to the scaffold. When they led us out in front of the crowd, we were hand in hand. When I started the old familiar prayer, the Miserere Me, it was his voice that joined in with mine, finishing it off.

And when we knelt at the block, I felt his hand squeeze mine. In that instant, I knew for certain. We had been together in life and we would be together in death.

_You're in the arms of the angel,__  
><em>_May you find some comfort here._


	82. Everybody Wants to Rule the World

**A/N: Hi, GreenField here! This is a songfic for George Boleyn and my OC, Elizabeth Hollington, to Lorde's cover of 'Everybody Wants to Rule the World'. It's way better than the original, in my opinion, as it really captures the sinister aspects behind the words and genuinely gives me the shivers – you should all listen to it! Please review! Gets slightly M-rated near the end.**

_Welcome to your life  
>There's no turning back<br>Even while we sleep  
>We will find you<em>

"You know, I thought I'd like court a lot more than I do"

George grinned, amused by the statement, "Really? You loved it at first, I seem to remember"

"Yes, but – "Elizabeth sat up in bed, her hair unravelling from its loose braid, "Things were different back then"

"Easier, perhaps"

"Definitely. I'm scared, nowadays"

George snorted, "Scared? What of?!"

"The Seymours"

"The _Seymours_? What do they have to do with anything?"

"Everything! Have you noticed them lately? Jane with her little simpering smiles at the King, and those brothers of hers – they watch you, they watch you like they're just waiting for something bad to happen to you. It frightens me"

"They're not prophets, Bess, they've got no idea what's going to happen in my future – nor theirs, I don't doubt"

"I'm serious, don't laugh at me! There's something sinister about them, and they spend a lot of time with Cromwell these days…"

George's face registered its first hint of worry, "Ah. Yes. It was unwise of Anne to fight with Cromwell"

"She had little choice, George, you know that. It was not just mere stupidity"

"I suppose so. But you have nothing to worry about with the Seymours. We Howards are in full bloom at the moment, and although they might like to think so, there is very little chance of them stopping us"

"Is there, though? Anne…"

"You've no need to worry about Anne. She carries the King's son, and whatever difficulties they may have been having will be completely erased when he finally holds a boy in his arms"

Elizabeth wanted to believe him, desperately; but she also knew what she had seen in the eyes of the Seymours; the wolves of Wolf Hall.

"It could go wrong again, George. If this baby ends like the last…"

"No" George said firmly, "No, she has to succeed this time"

"If she doesn't, the Seymours will know, George. They're spying on us, I'm sure of it, and Cromwell….the way he looks at me sometimes, it makes me think he knows. About us"

"No-one knows about us" George responded, squeezing her close against him; but she, who knew him so well, could detect the edge of anxiety in his voice, "No-one we haven't chosen, anyway"

"I just…I don't feel safe here anymore, George. I feel like we're being watched, and everyone is just waiting for us to slip up. Waiting for us to fall"

_Acting on your best behaviour  
>Turn your back on Mother Nature<br>Everybody wants to rule the world_

The day Anne went into labour, everyone knew what was going to happen. Elizabeth was called by Aurora, who had been sleeping in Anne's chamber that night while Elizabeth spent the night with George. She forced George to remain behind, just for a few moments, so as to avoid suspicion, and ran to Anne's chambers in her chemise, hair loose and dishevelled. George could wait no longer than a minute or two, and had soon caught her up.

"Is there any way that she could have miscalculated? That the babe may not really be early at all, but on time?"

"No" Elizabeth panted as she ran, "No, Anne spends every waking moment looking for signs that she might be with child. As soon as she suspected, she went to the physician and it was confirmed. She cannot be wrong. He is far too early"

"Then there is no…no chance?"

"No. None" Elizabeth spoke so bluntly that George was shocked to hear it; she had always been so expressive and full of emotion, and to hear her speak so coldly about such a matter…quite frankly, it terrified him.

"Elizabeth?"

"Don't" she gasped as they reached the chamber door and she flung her body against it to force it open, "Don't speak of it, else I shall weep – and that won't do any good to anyone"

George closed his eyes briefly to contain his emotion, and allowed Elizabeth to pull him into the room. They had missed it, but only by a few moments, it seemed; Anne lay back on the pillows, white as the sheets that covered her, shining with sweat and panting. Aurora was carefully mopping her brow, her face wet with tears; she met Elizabeth's eyes as they entered, and answered the unspoken question with a shake of her head. Elizabeth gave a choked gasp as her eyes fell on the midwife, who was wrapping the bloody foetus in some sheets, her face inscrutable. George ran to his sister.

"George, oh, my dearest brother" Anne was breathing quickly, panicking, frightened, "It was a boy, it was boy, and I lost him – my little Prince! Henry, he'll – "

"We'll take care of the King" Elizabeth put in quickly, moving swiftly to Anne's side, "I'll call a page to inform him in just a moment. If none of you tell him, then he shan't associate you with this…this tragedy" tears welled up in her eyes, but she knew she had to hide them for the sake of Anne. There was no question of doing anything else.

"This is it" Anne whispered, beginning to sob, "This is it. I have been truly abandoned now, by God and by Mother Nature"

"But not by us" Aurora said firmly, and George put his arms around his sister to ease the pain of her wracking sobs. When his eyes connected with Elizabeth's, she saw the agony there, and moved swiftly to the door to find a page. The door was already partway open, however, and upon opening it she was met with a sight that chilled her to her very core.

"Cromwell! I mean, Master Secretary – what is your business here?" her heart thrummed against her ribs, but she did not dare to show her fright. How could she?

"I am here to see what goes on with the Queen, so that I may inform his Majesty" he looked almost amused when he answered her, and this more than anything sent chills up her spine, "The boy is dead?"

Elizabeth swallowed audibly, "Yes"

"That is all I needed to know. Good evening" he hesitated and turned back, smiling in a way that terrified her more than anything, "Oh, and, Lady Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Master Secretary?"

"You may want to be a little quieter when you are abed. Anyone walking by might suspect that something untoward was going on behind closed doors"

Elizabeth froze for a moment; long enough for him to see the terror in her eyes and the gape of her mouth. When she rushed back through the chamber door and collapsed against it, gasping, George caught sight of her and came straight over.

"What is it? Is it about the babe?"

"No. It's about Cromwell. I was right. He's been spying on Anne – and us. He knows about us"

George's face paled, "No. No. But – why? Why would he need to know?"

"So he can win. You know what this place is _like_, George – everybody wants to rule the world of the court. And we're the ones who are going to end up losing"

_It's my own design  
>It's my own remorse<br>Help me to decide  
>Help me make the most<em>

_Of freedom and of pleasure  
>Nothing ever lasts forever<br>Everybody wants to rule the world_

They knew, from that day onward, that it was only a matter of time before they lost everything. The whey-faced Seymour girl was moving in on the King, and succeeding; Cromwell was eyeing Elizabeth in a way that made her tremble like a reed in the breeze; and Anne knew that her time was running out.

So did Elizabeth and George.

They met more often, uncaring of the possibility of Phillip or Jane discovering them. They danced together every evening at court, spinning and twirling like they had not care in the world. They devised excuses to increase the frequency of their trips to Hever, spending increasing time hugging their daughters and playing with them. It was their nights together, however, that became the most frequent.

"If we're going to fall and become the laughing stock of the court, I'm going to enjoy the life we have here while I can; and that includes you" George had said firmly, and he fulfilled that oath at every opportunity. One day, he pulled her into a corridor while the court danced, sick of the smug eyes of the Seymours and the salacious glares of Cromwell.

"If Anne gets sent to a convent – which she doubtlessly will – we won't be important anymore, us Boleyns. No-one will care about us. I'll be doing my wife a favour if I get a divorce"

"What are you saying?" Elizabeth gasped as he kissed her neck, grasping at her breasts through the snarled laces of her corset. George slipped his hand up her skirt and Elizabeth cried out as his fingers slipped inside her, caressing her in the way that only he could.

"I'm saying" he murmured, enjoying the way her face glowed with the pleasure he was bringing her, the sound of her small cries as her pleasure built, "That if I divorce my wife, and you let your husband catch us in the act…"

Elizabeth buried her face in his doublet at the moment of her release, crying out his name, and looked up at him with a heaving chest and bright eyes.

"We could get married" she panted, fingers threading through his hair, leaning against him to catch her breath. George tipped her face up to meet his.

"Yes. Exactly"

"You think everything will work out that well for us?"

"Of course it will. By God, Elizabeth, haven't we suffered enough? It's our turn to be happy, is it not?"

"Yes" Elizabeth sighed, leaning against him, "Yes, please God, let it be our time to be happy"

George kissed her forehead and grinned, "Shall we slip away? Jane is with that Frenchman she has a fancy for, and won't be back for some time"

Elizabeth grinned, "Only if you do that to me again"

"Oh, I can do better than that. Come on"

_There's a room where the light won't find you  
>Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down<br>When they do I'll be right behind you_

Of course, their optimism was short-lived. The Boleyns were no longer the rulers of the court; instead, their two brightest stars were locked within the Tower walls, lost to all, lost forever. And Elizabeth knew that it was not her happiness that was coming now; it was the end of her world. She would never be happy again, and for a moment she was almost angry with George for making her believe that she would be, however momentary that belief had been.

The night before his execution, Charles smuggled her into George's room. She had had to dress simply, and was therefore not nearly as fine as she would have liked to have been for George's last night on earth, but he did not seem to care. They spoke and made love and wept all through the night, never letting go of one another even for a moment. And with their last screams of release came the light of the sun, the light that signified George's time had finally, finally run out.

And the time for the Seymours to rule the world had begun.

_So glad we've almost made it  
>So sad they had to fade it<br>Everybody wants to rule the world_


End file.
